Falling Apart
by ArmedWithMyComputer
Summary: A devastating accident leaves both the brothers reeling. Connor isn't sure if they're both going to make it through. There's just pain, fear, and the realisation that everything might not be okay this time. Teenage MacManus brothers.
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys… This is my first Boondock Saints fic, so I hope you all like it :)_

.

They'd been walking home after school.

The country road was empty, as it always was, and Murphy was scuffing at the dirt with his worn sneakers. Connor was picking berries off the bushes, and shoving them into his mouth, being careful to avoid the empty patches of bush he'd eaten berries from the day before.

"Ah here, Connor, yer eatin' all the berries! Leave some fer tomorrow, will ya?"

Connor simply stuck out his berry stained tongue, and plopped another blackberry into his mouth. His brother scowls at him, and heaves his heavy bag onto his shoulders again with a wince. His face is pained, and Connor does actually feel quite bad for Murphy, as he'd been complaining about his shoulders hurting him recently.

"Okay, okay. Fine. Here, have one though. Then I swear I'll stop eating 'em, yeah?" Murphy simply shakes his head, and keeps trudging down the road. "What's wrong?"

His brother shrugs his shoulders, with another wince, and says, "Jus' have a bad feeling. Dunno why." Connor runs the extra few steps to catch up with him, and touches his shoulder gently, raising his eyebrows, "Don't give me tha' fuckin' look, Connor, I dunno. Jus'… Let's jus' get home."

That was the bad thing about living in the middle of nowhere, Connor supposed. They had a forty minute walk to school each day, down winding country roads, where everything was silent and still. They'd used to cycle to school, but then Connor had wrecked his bike, fallen off and broken his hand, and Murphy had given his away when they hadn't had enough money to repair Connor's. So now they walked, because Ma never wanted to drive them in the old banger of a car she owned.

Connor chews on his last blackberry carefully, wondering what was up with his brother. Murphy was normally the predictable one of the two, hot headed and full of energy. Maybe he was getting sick.

The walk home continued in silence. Every now and again Connor would snag a blackberry off a bush, just to see if he could get a reaction out of Murphy, but all he didn't even get a glance. Murphy just hunches his shoulders, a frown on his face, and chewed at his lip.

It was something that he'd always do when he was nervous, chew on his lip or on the skin at the sides of his thumb nail, but Connor can't think of a reason for it. He is almost certain that neither of them had any tests coming up, or that Murphy wasn't having girl troubles.

"Maybe we could get some 'a Ma's whiskey tonight? She said she was gonna go down ta th' Anvile tonight, get wasted probably. S'not like she'll notice a bottle anyway." Murphy just shugs, and then Connor gets mad, "C'mon, Murph, what's wrong with ye? Where's the banter got ta? Yer no craic this afternoon… Did someone start on ye at school? Cause ye know I'll—"

Murphy whirls around, and yells, "I said I don't know, Connor! I jus' have this feelin'! An' ye know I can fuckin' take care 'a myself!"

"I know ye can! But I'm worried about ye, Murph – the fuck's gotten inta ya?"

They were stopped, yelling at each other, just a few metres away from a sharp bend, but it doesn't matter because hardly any cars go down that road. The blackberry bushes are on either side of them, and Connor is yelling, and Murphy is waving his arms around angrily even though his shoulders hurt, and there are no cars around.

It doesn't matter that there are no cars around, until it does, because there are.

.

Out of nowhere, this big fancy car comes tearing around the corner, swerving all across the road.

Both boys stop, and all the sound drains away from the world. Connor stares at the car, and can't breathe. It's going to hit him. The car is now less than a metre away from him, and he can practically see his reflection in the shininess of the hood. It's going to hit him.

But then something slams into him before the car can, and he's knocked onto his side, and he still can't _breathe_. His head smacks against the uneven concrete of the road, and he hears someone scream his name, and the car was going to hit him, but something else got there first, and—

_Murph_.

Connor is trying to sit up then, and he can hear the car speeding away, and there's a dark shape lying a few metres away from him. _Murph_. Something wet is trickling down his face, and he's almost positive that it's not sweat, and his brother still isn't moving. _Murph_. He tries to yell out his twin's name, but his voice isn't working right, and he still can't breathe, and Connor is slowly slumping back down to the ground, but he can't because he has to stay awake and…

_Murph_.

.

He wakes up when the whole world is tilting, and there's lots of noise.

Connor's eyes snap open, and there's people everywhere, and something holding him down, and then the sky is moving. A woman looks down at him, and tries to talk to him, but Connor can't hear anything over the crushing fear.

_My brother_, he opens his mouth, and his lips are moving, but he has no idea if he's saying anything._ My brother_. More people appear, and there's something being stuck into his hand, and it hurts, and it's harder to breathe. Connor can see people all around him, their torsos rushing all over the place, and then he realises that he's on some kind of backboard.

His neck is immobilised, sticky tape stuck to his forehead to keep his head down, and Connor wants to scream.

So he does.

"Murph!" He yells, and his throat explodes in pain, but he doesn't hear any answer, "Murph! Murphy! _Murph_!" More people appear over him, and they're talking to him, but all Connor can hear is the lack of response from his brother, "Murph! Murphy, answer me—Murph!"

Still nothing. Everything is moving in fast forward, and suddenly he's being lifted into the back of an ambulance, and he's shaking and trembling because everything is _wrong_. He can't see Murphy, and the pain in his chest is getting worse, and he can't see Murphy anywhere.

Connor screams and cries and yells, but he can't hear his brother's voice anywhere. So he tries to kick and punch and thrash around, but they're holding him down, and he's still screaming, and _why won't Murphy answer him?_

Then the world starts to spin, and there's still hands restraining him, and Connor doesn't know what to do.

Because he's only sixteen, and that's too young for his life to fall apart, and all he wants is Murph to appear in the place of all these other people. Tears are streaming down his face, because the doors of the ambulance are shutting, and he's getting a warm feeling, and his eyes are shutting.

But there's no Murphy, only darkness, so Connor lets himself slip away.

.

_So… That was only a little teaser for you guys – normally my chapters are quite a bit longer than this, but I wanted to post this little bit as a tester. I'll get straight to writing more if you all like this, so please let me know what you thought of it :) Let me know if you want more!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey guys :) Thank you all so much for the reviews from the last chapter, I loved every one of them, and they were much appreciated! _

_Apologies for any mistakes or inaccuracies in this, I'm not a medical professional or a professional author. Hope you enjoy._

.

Murphy can feel pain.

His whole body is screaming at him, and there's hands touching him everywhere, and he doesn't like this shit. He doesn't know what happened, or why everything is a mixture of darkness and agony, or where Connor and his big head are.

But then he remembers.

Murphy remembers the car speeding around the corner, and Connor's face as he stared at the car that was about to smash into him. Murphy remembers the pure panic and fear that had taken hold of him. Murphy remembers how he'd tackled his brother out of the way.

Then his world had exploded into a mess of colours and agony, and then he had felt nothing.

He can feel himself slipping away again, and it's all the Murphy can do to pray that Connor made it out of the accident in one piece. Because he's not sure if he has.

.

Connor wakes up to loud noises, bright lights, and _pain_.

He tries to look around, tries to find out what's happening, and why everything feels so wrong, but there's someone talking to him, and he figures that he should listen. "…nor? Connor, can you hear me? This is important, Connor, can you hear me?"

There's a split second where he's frozen, but then he managed to lick his cracked lips slightly, and try to cough out a response. "Y-yeah."

"That's great, Connor, that's great. Now, there was an accident, and you're in the hospital, but I need you to stay calm for me, can you? You're going to be fine, Connor, just a few bumps and scrapes, but we need to do some x-rays and get you cleaned up, is that okay?"

He blinks at her, and breathes in shakily. It feels like there's someone sitting on his chest, and breathing is getting harder. He should probably tell the woman. But then Connor remembers who used to sit on his chest to annoy him, and his breath hitches, and something starts beeping like crazy over to his right.

"Murph!" He wheezes out, and attempts to sit up.

But either he's not strong enough, or the nurses are way too strong, because he can't move. Something is slipped over his face, and there's oxygen blowing into his face, and it just feels so much better. The beeping quietens down, and he opens his eyes again to see the same woman standing over him still. Her hand is planted gently on his chest, and Connor struggles to concentrate, because he needs that anchor.

"Connor, you need to stay calm for us, okay? I need you to take some deep breaths, and just lie still."

But nothing is right, and there's a pounding in his head that's just screaming out Murphy's name, "M-m brot..brother." His voice is cracked and sounds all wrong, and _hurts_, but Connor doesn't even care as long as he can get words out.

She looks to the side, at something out of his vision, and suddenly an understanding looks comes over her face. Connor tries desperately to look at what she was looking at, but there's another hand holding his forehead down, and he's still stuck in the neck brace.

"Your brother Murphy was in the accident with you, and he's being treated here as well, okay Connor? I'll be able to get an update on him later for you, but right now, we need to take you to CT and x-ray, and make sure that everything is okay with you?"

All Connor can see is the dark shape of Murph as he lies motionless on the ground, and the way he'd been yelling at Connor just before the car had rounded the corner. "N-no."

"Yes, Connor. There's nothing that you can do for Murphy at the moment, except let us help you. Now, this is Doctor Walsh, and he'll be looking after you."

Another head swims into his vision, and Connor blinks painfully as he focuses on the middle ages man leaning over him. He can't shake his head, and he can't move because there are people poking him all over the place, so he tries to speak again, "No, I-I've got ta… get ta… Murph… He—"

But his breath is taken away as he bursts into a coughing fit, and everything is _pain_ and _fear_, and all he wants is Murph.

"You can't do anything for Murphy until you're well, you know." The new doctor says in a slightly blasé way. "But if you want to waste more time, time that we could be spending getting you back on your feet, then be my guest. My shift doesn't end for another five hours either way."

Connor glares at him, seeing the man's point all the same though. He needs to get off this fuckin' gurney if he's ever going to be any use to Murph, and he can't do that until he's able to sit up without passing out. "Fine. Do yer f-fuckin'… tests, but t-then… I want ta see m'brother."

His eyes bore into the doctor's, and he feels a grudging kind of respect for the man, who clearly knows how to get him to agree on something.

.

The next hour passes in a blur of x-rays, and injections, and pain, and doctors looking at his chart, which is growing in content by the second.

Through it all, Connor lies still, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He moves when they tell him to, speaks when they ask him questions, and doesn't complain or flinch away from anything. He bites his lip when he's put into the CT machine, and again when he's in the x-ray department, but doesn't say a word.

He doesn't realise for a long while that he's no longer in his shirt and holey jumper, but instead in a hospital gown, with heart monitoring wires sticking out the front of it. Connor lies in his jeans and socks, and wonders if Murphy has been almost stripped down, like him.

He listens as they speak about him quietly, behind the thin curtain that can't keep any volume out. He's broken his wrist, which would explain why it was throbbing, and cracked two ribs as well. Connor scrunches up his nose, feeling the plastic oxygen cannula they hooked onto him, and thinks about Murphy. When they start speaking about how he most likely cracked his ribs due to the amount of force that Murphy crashed into him with, Connor simply squeezes his eyes shut, and pretends none of this is happening.

Then they're back in with him, and some guy is putting his wrist into a plaster cast. When he asks what colour Connor wants, he simply stares ahead, not answering and not caring. Later, he sees that they decided for him, a plain white cast.

He lets the nurses support him as another doctor secures this thick belt like thing around his ribs. It helps immediately with the pain, and he manages to nod marginally at the man as the nurses lower him back down to the gurney. Someone raises the head of the gurney then, and then he's able to look at something other than the ceiling, so he stares out at the ER, with disinterested eyes.

Connor feels almost numb. He's almost numb, because he can't bring himself to care about anything, except for Murph. He asks the nurses every eight minutes exactly if they've heard anything about his brother yet, because eight is Murphy's favourite number, and Connor can't bring himself to wait for any longer than eight minutes before asking again.

Ma come rushing through the doors of the ER when he's on minute number six. She sees Connor, lying on the almost fully reclined gurney, neck brace still fixed on, and he can see her clutching her rosary tightly.

"Hey M-Ma," He croaks when she gets nearer, and Connor's not sure if he's ever seen his mother as close to tears as she was then, "Have ye heard…anythin' about M-Murph?"

The blood that had been drying on his face has been wiped carefully away, and Connor knows that there's a small plaster sticking to the right side of his forehead. He also knows that he has three stitches embedded in the back of his head, which had hurt at the time, but he figures that it's redundant to tell Ma.

She shakes her head, and just stands there, beside him, staring. Then she speaks, and her tone is even rougher due to the tears that she's clearly holding back, "Ah, Connor. Wha' happened, love?"

Connor blinks, pushing down all the feelings of fear and pain that come rushing up, and tries to shrug in spite of the neck brace. "Murph. Where's Murph?"

Something inside him breaks just a little bit more, as he sees his mother's face pale, and his eyes begin to sting, "Yer brother's in surgery. They haven't said much ta me, other than ta say tha' his leg is… pretty bad. Maybe 'is back as well, but they don't know fer sure yet."

He watches as a tear rolls down his mother's face, and turns his head away from her slightly, "I want ta see him."

"He's in surgery, Connor. An' then they said tha' they might have ta move yer brother ta another hospital… but we don't know anythin' fer sure."

"Then I'll go with him."

.

After that, Connor doesn't say anything else, other than to remind his mother to check for news on Murphy, every eight minutes. She does it, clearly seeing how broken he is really, and then just sits beside the gurney, her hand gently on his good one.

When another hour passes, and a nurse comes into his cubicle to give him some more pain medication, Connor hears that he's going to have to stay in hospital overnight. He sees his mother looking at him warily as the doctor tells them, but he doesn't even react.

He wouldn't have gone home anyway, so it doesn't make a difference to him.

Connor's not leaving without Murphy.

.

It's only when he's settled in his room for the night, that news of Murphy comes through.

Connor is sitting against the raised head of the bed, neck brace removed, with all the wires and IVs still attached, when a doctor that he doesn't recognise comes in and asks to speak to Ma in private. His mother tries to stand up quietly, but he reaches out a hand, and grabs her wrist.

"_Murph_. I have ta hear, Ma."

She nods silently, and then tells the doctor in no uncertain terms that he'd have to speak in front of Connor, or she'd… Connor almost laughed when he listened to her, knowing how his mother got even more gruff and insulting when she was worried.

The doctor spared a glance towards Connor, who was scowling at him, and then began to speak, "Mrs MacManus, I am, eh, the doctor who was assigned to your son's case. Murphy. My name is Mr. Farrell, and I worked closely with the orthopaedic surgeons on your son. He was… he was brought in with extensive leg trauma, as well as a small head injury, and multiple abrasions and soft tissue damage. It would seem that when the car collided with him…"

He trailed off, and looked anxiously at Connor, who glared more, and growled, "Fuckin' say it."

"Well, the car caused a number of fractures to Murphy's lower legs, as it hit him full force, which we have attempted to stabilise in the operating room. The head injury and soft tissue damage, bruises, was caused when he rolled over the bonnet and roof of the vehicle, and then landed on the road afterwards."

Ma spoke then, her rosary fisted in her meaty hand. "So wha' does tha' all mean?"

The man sighed heavily, and Connor held his breath, "This all means that your son is in a critical condition. We would like to transfer him to Cork General Hospital, where they have a more advanced orthopaedic unit, than the one here. He may need more surgeries on his legs, particularly his right one, so we think that the move would benefit his recovery more."

"So he's okay?" Connor's voice was still raspy, and it hurt to breathe too deeply, but he leaned forward anyway, his gaze fixed on the doctor's face.

"We have him heavily medicated, and slightly sedated, so as to keep him stable. His head injury wasn't too severe, just a few stitches needed, so it's safe to give him the low amount of sedation that we are at the moment. It would be in his best interests to transfer him to Cork as soon as possible, so we have an ambulance standing by, waiting until we're completely satisfied with his vitals. He is currently in the ICU, being fully monitored, and cared for.

"The consultants at the other hospital have been informed of the situation, and are preparing for his arrival in the next few hours or so." Then the man took a deep breath, and properly looked at Connor for the first time, "Your brother has been seriously injured, and I can't make any promises. But his vitals are surprising good considering the amount of trauma his body has gone through, and we're hopeful here… Now, Mrs. MacManus, we have some paperwork that we need you to fill out before we can move Murphy."

Connor nodded silently to his mother as she shakily walked out of the room, and then closed his eyes briefly.

His brother was going to be okay. He was going to be okay, because Connor didn't know what he was going to do if Murphy wasn't okay.

He sat up slowly, and painfully swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Then he starts to look around for any other clothes that he could wear instead of the thin hospital gown and his jeans. Because he was going to that other hospital with Murphy, regardless of what anyone else thought.

.

When his mother walks back into the room, Connor is dressed in a scrub top he found in a bedside table, and jeans. His feet are cold in just socks, on the cold lino floor, but he simply stares at his mother, and dares her to tell him no.

"'m goin' with Murph."

She stares back at him, all the wires and IVs lying twisted on the bed behind him, and sees the look in his eyes. His mother nods, because she knows that he wouldn't stay anyway, not if his brother wasn't there.

So, half an hour later, Connor is leaning against the wall in the ambulance bay, waiting for Murphy to be brought down. He'd spent a good ten minutes yelling at some doctors who'd tried to make him stay, all his anger and worry rushing out of him, until they'd finally agreed.

He would have to be monitored once they got to the other hospital, Ma had been very clear about that, but for now, all he was concerned with was Murphy.

But then the door opened, and Murphy was wheeled out, and suddenly Connor lost the ability to breathe.

_Murph_.

.

_I hope you all liked this chapter :) Anyway, I'd love to hear back from you guys, as to what you thought of this chapter – the reviews from the last chapter gave me a boost to write this so quickly! I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I can._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey guys. Thanks to _reedusfan_, and _AgentDelaware_ for reviewing the last chapter :) I really appreciate it! And I hope that the rest of you guys haven't lost interest already…_

.

Connor stumbles away from the wall, and his knees get weaker as he stares down at Murphy.

"Oh God," He manages to get out, and his hand latches onto the railings on the side of the gurney, "Oh fuck, _Murph_."

His brother is lying still. His face is pale, and his eyes closed. There's road rash on the left side of his face, coming dangerously close to his eye, and it looks so painful that Connor wants to cry for his brother. He knows that it's from when Murphy skidded across the road, after being hit by the car. Murphy is wrapped up in blankets, so Connor can't see the rest of his body, but he can see the straps that close across Murphy's chest and legs, to keep him from falling off. His brother is in a neck brace, like Connor was, and he can feel his own neck aching, as he stares as Murphy's head forced into an uncomfortable position.

There are portable machines and fluid bags being wheeled along with him, and Connor doesn't think that he's ever seen that many wires or tubes coming out of someone before. He looks down briefly, seeing the bloody skin on his own arm where he pulled out his own IV, and closes his eyes briefly, knowing that Murphy is a thousand times worse off than him.

But the worse thing is the breathing tube.

It snakes out from his brother's mouth, plastic and ugly, and the sight of it makes Connor want to throw up. The tube is taped in place, and Murphy's lips are slack around it, and even the rising of his chest seems forced now.

The moment when Connor takes everything in only lasts about a second, and then the paramedics are wheeling Murphy past, and getting him secured in the back of the ambulance. He waits, just watching as they hook Murphy up to even more machines, and wraps his good arm around his ribs.

"You coming, kid?"

Connor's head snaps up when he hears the paramedic calling to him, and he nods his head furiously. There's no way he's not coming. "Uh, yeah. I'm coming." He clambers into the back of the ambulance, ignoring the hand that's stretched out to him, because he can do it himself, thank you very fuckin' much.

Then he curls up as small as he can on the small bench in the back, and holds his breath as he hears the loud bang as the doors shut. Connor stares at his brother, who is paler than Connor has ever seen him, and forces himself to breathe in and out regularly.

Ma is going to drive down to Cork when she's finished all the paperwork, and meet Connor there. He had been insistent that he wasn't going to leave Murph by himself though, even if his brother was drugged up and unconscious.

.

The ambulance starts driving then, and Connor hugs his cast to his chest, and focuses on being completely still. It's easy for him. Murphy is the energetic one, the twin that always had to be moving around or running or kicking something. Connor is the one who prefers to observe and make plans and boss Murphy around, because he can. So he just sits still, and tries to pretend that it doesn't hurt as much as it does to see Murphy lying still and unmoving.

"The intubation is just a precaution," Connor flinches when one of the paramedics puts a hand on his shoulder, and sits down next to him. She nods towards Murphy, and gives Connor a small smile, "His breathing is quite good, considering, but we don't want any surprises, do we?"

Connor shakes his head, and digs his fingernails into his palm, as he fists his good hand.

All he wants to do is curl up next to his brother, and close his eyes, and then for everything to be okay. But things are clearly not okay, so Connor just sits still, and counts the minutes. He ignores the throbbing of his wrist, and the sharp pain he gets in his chest when he breathes.

"You can hold his hand, if you want." The other paramedic says, possibly because he sees how close to breaking down Connor is.

He holds his breath, as the man gets Murphy's limp hand, and places it on top of his chest. Connor reaches out, and hesitantly holds his brother's hand, being careful of the tubes that are coming out of the back of it. He closes his eyes, and can feel the scar that Murphy has in the palm of his hand.

Murphy had gotten cut there when they'd been little. Some asshole had left a broken bottle that had been smashed to bits in the playground, and typical Murph had had to trip just there, and slam his hand down on the bottle. He had been screaming bloody murder, and Connor had been screaming too, and there had been blood—lots of it. But then Ma had rushed his brother to the hospital for stitches, and Connor had calmed him down, and it had ended up with both Connor and Murphy sitting on the examination table, while the doctor had stitched up Murphy's palm.

_Ah, Macho Murph, _Connor had teased, watching as his brother had smiled through watery eyes and hiccupped due to the pain medication. Then they'd gone home, and Ma had even put a movie on the TV and let them watch it past bedtime. She had sat on the couch with them, a rare occurrence, but by the end of the movie, she had been snoring. That had been the evening when Murph had dared Connor to try a sip of Ma's whisky, which had left him spluttering for what felt like an hour.

So Connor holds his brother's lifeless hand, thinking about that evening when they were eight, and watches Murphy's face.

After an hour or so, the paramedic says something quietly to the driver, and then turns to Connor, "We're nearly there, okay, kid?" He nods, and runs his thumb gently over the back of Murphy's hand, "Do you, um, do you have anyone waiting for you at Cork General?"

"Nah. Our Ma is gonna come down when she's done tha' paperwork or somethin'. I got Murph though. An' 'm gonna be there fer him."

The paramedic exchanged pitiful glances, and then nodded at him, "Okay, Connor. What's going to happen when we get to this hospital though is that they're going to want to do some more tests on your brother. Just the standard x-rays, CT, and maybe an MRI. And then the doctors will want to do their own assessment on him, and then they'll talk to your Ma about a plan of action, and course of treatment."

Connor nods, and doesn't take his eyes off Murphy, "When's he gonna wake up though? I… 's not like Murph ta stay this still fer this long, an'— I jus' wanna talk ta him."

"I don't know, Connor. It depends on what treatment the consultants at Cork General want to go through with. But, when Murphy does wake up, he's probably going to be in a lot of pain. So they'll be trying to manage his pain with some pretty heavy drugs, and I want you to be prepared for that. He's got a long road to go before he's right as rain again… Connor? Are you listening to me?"

"Aye," He bows his head, and runs his tongue over his cracked lips, "I hear ye."

.

When they pull into the hospital's ambulance bay, Connor scoots back, and tries to makes himself as small as possible.

Murphy's face is still motionless as the ambulance comes to a halt, and then the doors are opening, and they're rolling him out, and taking him away. Connor doesn't move for a moment, waiting until he's sure that he won't be in the way, and then he limps out of the ambulance, holding onto his ribs tightly.

He knows that he should probably wait until someone tells him what to do, but they're taking Murphy away, and Connor suddenly doesn't think that he can be without Murphy just yet. So he doesn't say anything, and slips through the double doors after the gurney.

No one notices him for a few minutes, and all he can hear are doctors demanding tests, calling out vital signs, and talking loudly to each about his brother. Connor doesn't like any of it, hates the way they're talking about his twin like he's some broken toy, but he can still see Murph, and that's all that he cares about.

They take the tube out then.

It's the longest fuckin' thing that Connor has ever seen, and it makes him want to throw up. He stands stiffly in the doorway of the trauma room, and just watches, eyes narrowed in concentration and worry.

But then Murphy is coughing, and making this mewling sound that Connor has never heard before, and his legs are moving out of their own accord. He crosses the room in a matter of seconds, pushing confused doctors aside, until he's grabbing at the rails of the gurney, and leaning down.

His brother's eyes are fluttering open, and he's still making that pathetic noise, and Connor doesn't know what to do. So he gingerly reaches a hand down, and pets Murphy's hair carefully, and says random words in Irish for him, because its Murphy's favourite language, "Tá tu go maith, Murph, bíonn gach rud ceart go leor, sea, sea. Tá grá agam duit, análaigh leat, mo deartháir."_ You are good, Murph, everything is okay, yes, yes. I love you, keep breathing, my brother._

Murphy's eyes open for a split second, and he's staring at Connor with a whole range of emotions in his eyes. Pain. Fear. Confusion. Worry. Trust.

Then someone puts a hand on his shoulder, and he doesn't even look around before he shakes it off roughly, but it's too late, and Murphy's eyes are closed again, "Murph? Murph, c'mon, wake th' fuck up again. Stop, Murph, it's not fuckin' fair, c'mon, wake up. I don't—Murphy, ye have ta open yer eyes, an' stop actin' th' maggot like this. It's not fair, Murph, ye didn't do anythin' ta deserve this!"

"Who is this kid?" He hears someone yell, but he doesn't spare them a glance, leaning down to speak in his brother's ear.

Someone hazards a guess, that cuts Connor to the bone, "Is he the brother?"

Yes, he is _the brother_, and Murphy is his brother, and when did everything get so complicated that he can't even talk to Murphy anymore. The red cuts of the road rash on his cheek contrast against the white sheets and Murphy's pale face, and everything is so wrong. But he is _the brother_, and doesn't that mean that he's supposed to make everything okay?

"'m sorry, Murph. 'm sorry about th' blackberries, an' all th' shit tha' went down on tha' road… 's my fault, an' I—"

He's pulled back from the bed then, by one of the nurses that means well, and Connor tries to resist, but he's too weak, and somehow tears have started to wet his cheeks. Connor is ushered into a chair, and he swallows hard as the group of doctors block his view of Murphy.

There's a light shining in his eyes, and Connor blinks his tears away to see a doctor kneeling in front of him with a little torch thing. He bats the light away, and presses his cast into his body unconsciously. The man is talking, and trying to look in his eyes, and prod the cut on his forehead as well, "Connor, I need you to follow this light for me now, this is important."

So they'd finally figured out who the fuck he was, "Get th' fuck away from me. I don't need any of this shit, I jus' need ye ta fix my brother." The man frowns, and doesn't move, so Connor hauls himself up from the chair, and moves back so he's leaning against the wall, "Seriously, 'm fine. Go do yer job fuckin' elsewhere."

He's finally left alone, though every few minutes someone glances over towards him. Connor ignores them though, and watches carefully as Murphy is poked and prodded, and hooked up to more monitors. His brother has shown no more signs of consciousness, and the thought sends a shoot of pain through his chest.

They take him away then.

"We're just going to the x-ray department, love, we'll bring him back soon," A friendly looking nurse informs him, giving Connor this pitying look that he despises, but he shakes his head, and tries to follow them. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but you have to stay here. Look, there's the waiting room over there. Someone will come and get you when we get Murphy settled in a room, or when we have more news, okay? No, no, this way, Connor, I'm sorry."

She steers him towards the waiting room, and when he looks down the hallway, Murphy's gurney is already out of sight. He stops resisting her after that.

.

Connor manages to sit in the waiting room for all of eight minutes.

Then he just can't take it anymore, and the grey walls of the room feel like they are suffocating him. A few of the other occupants give him a worried look as he stands up suddenly, rubbing his cast with the fingers on his good hand, and then walks out of the room.

He makes it as far as the corridor, and then sinks down to the ground, his head in his hands. Connor sits on the cold, lino ground, his knees pulled up to his chest, and leans his head back against the wall.

This place is completely unfamiliar to him, and the only places that he knows is the room he's slumped outside of. Murphy's room. Connor doubts that they'll bring his brother back to the trauma room, but he has nowhere else to go, except that waiting room, and he's already vowed to himself that he's not going to step foot in that room ever again.

Connor has no money, no idea where anything is, and no way of contacting Ma.

All he has is Murphy, so he waits for him.

He sits there, silently, being as still as he can. He sits there, watching the passing people give him sad and confused looks, and stares at the opposite wall. He sits there, not even feeling the pain in his chest or arm anymore, and remembers the image of Murphy opening his eyes.

Connor sits there, and feels like he's falling apart.

.

_So, I hope that chapter was okay. I translated the Irish that Connor speaks to Murphy in this myself, and I don't think that there's any mistakes, but let me know if you spot some. Would love to hear some feedback from you guys, as it's the fuel that keeps me writing! I'll try and have the next chapter up in the next few days._

_Review..?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey guys :) Sorry for the wait for this chapter, real life got in the way! Thank you all so much for the reviews from the last chapter – I really appreciated all of them :)_

_I hope you enjoy this chapter._

.

It takes far too long for someone to find Connor, and he's gotten to the point where he has to close his eyes to keep the tears from leaking out.

"Connor MacManus?"

He sits up so fast that his head cracks back off against the wall, and a yelp is forced out of him as the stiches in his head make contact with the hard surface, "Wha—I—Murph!" Connor's mouth is working so fast that he's pretty sure that he's not making sense anymore, but he wraps an arm around his torso and hauls himself off the floor anyway.

The man staring down at him holds his hands up defence as Connor's eyes search his, "He's okay, Connor, he's stable. Now we have him settled in a room for the time being, but—"

"Where is he? I have ta see him, please, you've gotta let me see him."

The doctor simply nods, and starts walking, seeing that he's not going to get anything through to Connor when he's like this. Connor follows him quickly, eyes scanning into every room that they pass, looking for Murphy. He forces the doctor into a fast walk, getting more anxious as the seconds pass and he's not with his brother.

Finally, the doctor stops in front of a room, and nods to the inside. Connor pauses with him, not looking inside, arms wrapped around his ribs, and he takes a second to remind himself how to breathe. _In. Out. In. Out._

There's a huge window looking into the room from the corridor, because the plaque on the wall says ICU, but Connor doesn't think that he can bear to look in just yet. He looks down at his feet, at the battered runners, and then steels himself.

Connor walks through the door, and forces his face to remain impassive.

Because all he wants to do is collapse to the ground and start crying until he's hoarse, but that's not going to help Murphy, so he goes with his other option. Connor walks over to his brother's beside, and looking down at him carefully, keeping his emotions contained, and then manages to say, "So what's th' story with Murph?"

"I'm… I'm not sure if this is a suitable topic to be discussing without your parents present…" The man starts to say, but then Connor turns around and stares at him.

His voice is hoarse and cracked, "Jus' tell me already. Fer fuck's sake, I need ta know what's wrong with him."

The look in his eyes was enough to have the other man clearing his throat carefully, "Okay. Murphy has sustained very serious injuries to his lower legs. The damage is extensive. He had emergency surgery this afternoon in an attempt to stabilise his legs, until further reconstruction could be carried out. That's what we're hoping to do. In simple terms, we intend to surgically repair the fractures using rods, screws, and other internal hardware. This will be a very lengthy, complicated series of procedures, which will probably be carried out during the course of one or more operations. For the time being, Murphy's legs have been stabilised in temporary casts. Do you have any questions?"

"Aye, when's he gonna wake up? An'… an' will he be able ta walk again?"

The doctor sighs slightly, and Connor swears that his heart missed a beat, "He should regain consciousness within the next hour or so. Because of his concussion, we can't keep him sedated, but he is dosed up on pain medication to manage the pain when he wakes up. And, as for the other questions, I hope so. Murphy will need intensive physiotherapy and time until he's able to walk again, probably with a limp for the long term, but I'm hopeful that he'll recover, given the time and rest he requires."

Connor swallows hard, and then sinks down into a chair next to Murphy, "Thank ya, doctor. I appreciate it."

"I'll leave you two alone. Run out and get one of the nurses, if you need anything."

Then they were alone, and Connor suddenly doesn't know what to do. Murphy is motionless in the bed, huge bulky casts visible under the blankets. He has an oxygen cannula under his nose, and the hospital gown looks baggy on him.

Connor leans forward and takes Murphy's limp hand gently in his own, "'m here, Murph. Ya gotta wake th' fuck up soon though, cause… cause I don't know what ta do. Ye need ta wake up so ye can start getting' better. And I don't know what ta do, an' I jus' need ye ta talk ta me. I need ta know that yer okay."

Then he presses his forehead gently to Murphy's hand, and begins to pray.

.

It takes another two hours for Murphy to start waking up.

Conner jolts back to full consciousness the second he feels his twin's hand start to move in his. He leans forward and put a hand gently on Murphy's head, smoothing down his messy hair slightly, "Murph? Ye gonna open yer eyes an' wake up fer me now?"

There's another few minutes of Murphy just scrunching up his face, and moaning, before his eyes finally open. The blue eyes that Conn knows as well as his own are slightly glazed over, and full of confusion. Tears well up in Murphy's eyes, and Connor wordlessly wipes one away with his thumb before it can slip down Murphy's cheek.

"C-Connor?" His brother isn't making any attempt to mask his fear, and Murphy is clearly disoriented, and all Connor wants to do is cry alongside Murphy.

"Shh, s'okay, Murph, yer okay. There was an accident, and ye got a bit banged up, but yer okay. Don't try ta move, I don't want ye ta hurt yerself. I'm right here. Yer in a hospital, a really fuckin' good one, an' they're gonna fix ye up real good, y'hear? They're sound here, an' it's okay. Tá me anseo, tá me anseo. An dtuigeann tu?" _I am here, I am here. Do you understand?_

Murphy stares up at Connor shaking his head, his eyes full of pain and trust, and his lip trembles, "Wha' h-happened?"

He hesitates, but knows that he has to give it to Murphy straight, otherwise his brother will know that he's lying, "Ye got hit by a car, Murph. Pushed me outta tha' way, and ye got hit." Connor can see Murphy processing all of this, and he continues quietly, "Ye broke yer legs, both 'a them. So you've gotta stay here fer a while, jus' till ye get better, but I'll be here too. 'm not gonna leave ye, an' we'll be here together."

"You okay?"

Connor almost breaks down into tears at that moment, but he manages to hold it together long enough, "I'm fine, thanks to ye. Macho Murph, saving yer big brother like that."

His slight taunt has the reaction that he's been hoping for. Murphy's face frowns slightly, the drugs making him sluggish, and he strains to shake his head, "I'm th' oldest… Yer _my_ little brother… ye eegit." Then Murphy lifts one of his arms up slightly, and just looks at Connor.

He knows what his brother wants. Connor leans down, and pulls Murphy into a very careful hug. Connor holds the hug for a minute or two, before pulling away, and messing with the bedrail for a minute, until he finally manages to get it down. He scoots his chair closer to Murphy's bed, and then leans his torso against the bed.

"Yer gonna be fine, Murph."

There's a beat of silence, before Murphy replies, "Okay."

It sounds like he doesn't really believe it, and Connor knows that the sinking feeling in his heart means he doesn't really believe it either.

.

Murphy lies still, and listens to the sound of Connor breathing beside him.

He'd woken up in pain and confused, but Connor had been there, and that'd been all he needed. Everything hurt though.

The room was silent, bar all the monitors that were beeping quietly, and Murphy felt an overwhelming surge of fear go through him. He wanted to leave his hospital. He wanted Connor to just take him home, and for them to eat blackberries along the lane, and for everything to be okay. Murphy can feel tears building in his eyes, and he resists the urge to sniffle.

Everything is wrong.

The heart monitor began to beep even faster, and Murphy was breathing heavily, and suddenly Connor was on his feet.

"What's goin' on? What—Murphy, oh God, please, please, what's wrong?"

But he couldn't reply, he could only stare at his brother helplessly as he paced, and the pain started to rise up. An alarm went off on one of the machines, a shrill one that made Murphy try to reach up his arms to put them over his ears. But his limbs were too heavy, and he could only left his arm up for a few seconds, before it flopped down on the bed.

His back arched up then against his will, the panic that was going through him making everything melt into some form of black and white.

He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe, and he needs to go home. "H-home," Murphy gasps out, and Connor is hovering over him, glancing anxiously at the door. His brother's hands dance above his body, but Connor is too terrified to touch him, Murphy can tell, and the choking feeling builds up.

Connor's lips are moving, and it looks like he's shouting something, but Murphy can't hear anything else. He reaches out with his last ounce of strength, and brushes his fingers against Connor's hand. His brother's gaze snaps back down to lock with Murphy's, and he grasps his hand tightly, as people start to flood into the room.

Murphy's only looking at Connor though.

.

Connor is screaming.

He's shouting and yelling for someone to do something, because he doesn't know why Murphy suddenly started moaning and gasping, and it's scaring him.

"Do something!" His ribs let out a jolt of pain at the force of his yell, but Connor couldn't care less, "What th' fuck is wrong with him?" All the while, Murph just stares up at him, terrified, and Connor doesn't think that he can take another minute of this, "He can't fuckin' _breathe_!"

Then one of the doctors straps an oxygen mask on Murphy's face, and a nurse readies a syringe, "He's having a panic attack, honey. He must just be a little overwhelmed. We're just going to give him something to calm him down, okay?"

Connor understands then.

He moves forward, and blocks the nurse, saying, "No, no, let me calm him down. He just doesn't like hospitals, ye jus' gotta let me try, before ye drug him. _Please_, I can get him ta calm down," Connor holds Murphy's hand tightly, and begs the nurse to give him at least a minute.

After a second, she nods, and takes a step back, and then Connor is bending over Murphy, and whispering in his ear, "C'mon, Murph, c'mon, ye gotta calm down. This is jus' like one 'a yer nightmares, right? Ye get all worked up, an' then ye calm down, ye jus' gotta remember tha' I'm here. Yer gonna be fine, okay, yer gonna be fine. Ye jus' need ta take some deep breaths, an' let yerself relax, an' then you'll be grand. 's about tha' breathing, I've said it ta ye a million times."

Connor runs a hand through his brother's hair, and can already feel him beginning to wind down. The monitors begin to lose their urgent beeping, and that in itself has an effect on Murphy, "Tha' its, Murph, ye just concentrate on yer breathing. Ma'll be here soon, an' she'll sort everythin' out. We'll get ye fixed, an' we'll be home in no time. C'mon, take some deep breaths in, I know ye can do it. Jus' think about how much attention yer gonna get from tha' hot nurses, and from yer big brother."

Beginning to calm down, Murphy tried to give Connor a weak smile, and he grins back, "There ye have it, Murph. See, yer grand now, jus' a little hiccup. 's gonna be fine, I promise, 's not gonna even be tha' bad… Good, Murph, that's good breathing, ye feelin' better?"

Only when he received a groggy nod from his brother, did some of the pressure in Connor's chest start to release. He turns for a moment, to give the staff in the room a weary smile, "Ye jus' gotta know how ta talk him outta these things. He gets all worked up, an' then he can't calm himself down quick enough."

"He's lucky to have you as a brother."

The words hit Connor hard and fast, and he bites his lip. Murphy is drifting off to sleep, exhausted by his 'episode,' and all Connor wants to do is fall asleep alongside him. He lets himself drop back into the chair, and strokes Murphy's hand with his thumb gently.

"'s the other way round. I'm lucky ta have him."

.

_Was that okay? _

_I'll have the next chapter up in the next few days, but would absolutely love to hear any feedback or thoughts that you guys have on this :) It really helps me to write faster. As always, apologies for any grammar or spelling mistakes. The small bit of Irish in this is translated by me, but as far as I know, there's no mistakes!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	5. Chapter 5

_Hey guys – thanks so much for all the feedback from the last chapter! I love you all!_

_I hope you enjoy this one…_

.

Connor jolts awake to the sound of someone laughing weakly.

His hands grasp out desperately at thin air, while his eyes struggle to open, and he doesn't calm until someone reaches over and grabs his un-casted hand. The person immediately grips Connor's hand tightly, and suddenly everything is okay.

"Open yer eyes, ye eegit," Murphy says shakily, and Connor snaps them open, flinching and scrunching up his face at the invasion of light.

His brother is still there, and for a moment, things seem like they're going to be okay. Because Murphy is calling him an eegit, and he's _right there_, and Connor's broken wrist is only throbbing a tiny bit.

But then Connor blinks, and everything falls into perspective. Murphy is almost sitting up, the bed in a half reclined position, but he looks terrible. His face is pale and pained, an oxygen cannula sitting under his nose, and his hand is trembling where he's holding onto Connor. There's IVs in his hands, and wires sticking out of the hospital gown, and Connor doesn't like one bit of this.

When he looks down at Murphy's legs, they look bulky, because of how they're immobilized, but it's so _wrong_. Murphy is always the one who's jiggling his leg up and down, or bouncing his foot off the ground, or kicking out at something, or jumping slightly in anxiety.

Anything but this stillness.

Connor runs a hand over his face, still clinging to Murphy's hand, and grunts when he smacks himself in the face with his cast, "Wha—Sorry, I didn't mean ta go ta sleep. I—I didn't mean ta."

His eyes are still hazy with sleep, but Connor manages to make out the blurry figure of his Ma making her way over to him. She pulls him into a gentle hug as he stands up, and for a split second, he lets go of Murphy, and hugs her back with both arms.

_I can't do this, _Connor presses his face into her shoulder for a moment, and she lets him, _I can't watch Murphy wasting away. I can't._

He wonders if she could sense his thoughts, because when they pull away, tears are shining in his Ma's eyes, something he'd only seen once or twice in his life. "It's okay," She murmurs, and nods at him, "It's going ta be okay." Connor doesn't think that he can reply without breaking down, so he simply turns away, drops back into the chair with a wince, and goes back to holding Murphy's hand.

"Ye didn't tell me tha' ye were hurt," Murphy says quietly.

Connor takes a second to process the question, and then lifts his head up to meet his brother's gaze, "What're ye talkin' bout, Murph? 'm fine."

His brother shakes his head, and coughs wearily before he speaks again, "No, you're not. Ye hit yer head, I can see th' cut from here, an' ye broke yer wrist. An' Ma told me tha' ye cracked two ribs. That's not fine, Conner, have some cop on."

"Murph, seriously, it doesn't even hurt that much. 'm grand, Murph, I swear ta God. If ye hadn't… If ye hadn't pushed me outta the way—"

Murphy's face suddenly is screwed up, and he shakes his head, "Don't say tha', Connor, don't ye dare say tha'. We're both here, an' that's that… 'm sorry about yer ribs an' yer wrist though."

Rolling his eyes, Connor ruffles his brother's hair, and grins, "Don't be fussin' over me, Murph, we jus' gotta get ye back ta normal so ye can get back ta makin' a fool of yerself in front of tha' girls, now, don't we?" Murphy swats his hand away, and for a second, things are okay again.

.

Then, a doctor sticks his head into the room and says, "Mrs. MacManus? We have some more paperwork for you to sign, and then everything should be sorted."

Ma lets out a loud groan, but winks at the two brothers, "I'll be right back, boys, try not ta get inta any more trouble, ye little pissants."

The room goes silent as she slams the door behind her, already cursing at the doctor, and Connor grins at the closed door. "That's yer mother talkin', ye hear the mouth on her?" There's no answer, and he frowns, looking back at his brother, "Murph?"

"They're takin' me inta surgery tomorrow morning," Murphy chews on his thumb, and avoids Connor's eyes, something that he always does when he's nervous, "Ta start fixing me legs, my left one. In the morning, real early like. Ma told me."

This is the Murphy that Connor knows, the one who holds all his feelings in until they come rushing out. Murphy never likes to show weakness. He always waits until they're alone, just the two of them, though. Connor is slightly relieved in a way, because this is the Murphy that he knows, and he can deal with this.

Connor takes a careful breath in, "That's good though. The sooner they do it, the sooner we can go home. 's gonna be okay, Murph."

"How do ye know tha'?"

"Cause I jus' fuckin' do. Look, this is jus' somethin' tha' we havta work through. You'll go in there, and they'll fix ye up, an' when ye wake up, I'll be right here. Easy peasy. Piece of cake. I know it's not nice ta think about now, but sure it'll be over this time tomorrow."

Murphy looks down at his motionless legs, and he sniffs, "Wha' if they can't fix them. I… I can't even feel anythin', Connor."

The statement tears at his heart, but Connor just forces his thoughts down, and says slowly, "But ye don't want ta be feeling them now, Murph, they'd be hurtin' like crazy. An' its jus' the drugs that they're givin' ye, ta help with the pain. 's gonna be okay. You'll get the feeling back, an' before ye know it, you'll be rushin' all over the shop like usual, an' annoying the hell outta everyone."

His brother is silent for a minute, just twisting the blanket up in his long fingers before he answers, "Ye sure?"

Connor nods without hesitation, and lets out a yawn. Murphy echoes him immediately, eyes drooping slightly, and he chuckles, "Go back ta sleep, Murph. 'm not goin' anywhere."

.

Murphy watches his brother choke down the sandwich that their Ma had gotten him the next morning, and stares glumly out the window.

He isn't even hungry, like he normally is when Connor is eating in front of him, and there's a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Connor wines and moans to Ma about how awful the sandwich tastes, and she gives him a slap upside the head, and tells him not to act like a baby.

He can't even bring himself to laugh like he usually does when his brother is getting chewed out by Ma. Murphy just bites his lip, and shifts slightly in the bed. A jolt of pain runs through him, and he clamps down harder on his bottom lip to keep himself from making another sound. The pain meds aren't as effective that morning.

But Connor notices, and lets his free hand drift towards Murph, without saying anything. He reaches out to trace the patterns on Connor's cast, and looks at the clock again. It's seven in the morning, and Ma has only just come bustling through the door. Connor stayed overnight, lounging on a fold up cot that a nurse brought in for him.

Somehow, Connor had managed to be awake every time that Murphy woke up during the night, and he had been there every time a nurse had come into mess about with medicines, or check his temperature. Connor had been awake to listen to every moan of pain that Murphy had let slip out, and he had just sat there, and been _Connor_. And that's all that he had needed.

Before Murphy has a chance to say anything, like a comment about how Connor looks like a horse when he's chewing, or the state of Ma's hair in the morning, a doctor come striding into the room, followed by three nurses.

"All ready, are we?"

Connor's fingers curl around the edges of his cast, and dig into Murphy's hand, before he's carefully pushed to the side. Ma glares at the doctor, and pets Murphy's hair slightly before she too, steps to the side.

Murphy just sits there, feeling numb, and watching as the nurses bustle around him. He stares at Connor, who's clenching his jaw and looking like he wants to punch someone. He raises a hand in a wave, just as one of the nurses unlocks the wheels on his bed, and he starts gliding forward.

His brother nods back at him, the emotion in his eyes indescribable. Suddenly, Murphy doesn't want to leave the room anymore, he just wants to stay with Ma and an overprotective Connor. He wants to stay, he wants to stay, he wants to stay.

But he knows that he can't.

So Murphy keeps his face impassive as they wheel him though hallways and down corridors, but all he can think about is Connor's face, and the fact that he can't move his legs. He feels trapped, and there's nothing that he can do about it.

When they get to the operating theatre, he scowls at the sea of faces waiting for him, but doesn't make a sound as they grab the sheet on either side of him. Within seconds, he's been transferred, and he's lying on the thin operating table. There's lights in his eyes, and people talking to him, and all Murphy wants is Connor. He wants his brother to be holding his hand, or to just be beside him, he wants to look up and see Connor smirking at him.

But instead Murphy looks up, and sees the anaesthesiologist standing right over him, and there's suddenly a mask over his face.

He breathes in, trying not to hyperventilate, and squeezes his eyes closed when he feels a prick in his hand. A tear manages to escape out, and he can feel it sliding down his cheek. No one bothers to wipe it away, all too preoccupied, so Murphy lets another one fall.

He just wants it to be over already.

.

_I hope that chapter was okay. Would love to hear what you guys thought of this, and I'll try to have the next chapter up by the weekend._

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	6. Chapter 6

_Hey everyone :) Thanks so much for the reviews from the last chapter – they were much appreciated! I hope you enjoy this one._

.

He paces.

Connor marches across the waiting room and back, over and over again, until the aching in his ribs reaches an all new high. Then he paces some more.

Ma sits in one of the plastic chairs, with the rest of the occupants, and watches him. Connor refuses to look at her, refuses to acknowledge the pitying looks that strangers keep giving him, and he absolutely refuses to think about the fact that Murphy is somewhere in the hospital, unconscious and being cut open.

When the silence gets to be too much, Connor looks over at Ma, his good hand clenched into a fist, "I havta get outta here," He mutters, and then turns on his heel and marches out.

The corridors are mostly empty, because the surgical floor is apparently quiet on a Wednesday morning at eleven. Connor stamps his feet into the lino floor, and chews at the inside of his cheek. He doesn't know how to handle this overwhelming pressure, this pounding inside his head that says that he needs to see Murphy, and he needs to see him now.

Connor walks all over the hospital, until he reaches the ER, and then his legs can't hold him up any more.

He slumps down in a chair, in a row of them, and wraps both his arms around his torso. Someone is crying in the distance, and there's a splatter of blood three feet away from him. A doctor walks past him, and all Connor can do is bury his head in his hands.

A gasp of pain escapes from his lips when he attempts to bend over, to try and curl in as small as possible. Connor quickly abandons that idea, and presses his head into the wall behind him, squeezing his eyes shut as pain spikes through his ribs. Sleeping on that thin cot the night before had clearly done nothing good for his cracked ribs.

Someone places a hand carefully on his shoulder, and he nearly falls off the chair in his attempt to get away from the stranger, "Hey, calm down, kid… Connor, isn't it?"

He opens his eyes to see a doctor looking down at him with concern, one that looks vaguely familiar. Then he's able to place the man's face, and he scowls slightly. It's the doctor from before, when Murphy was in the trauma room, and some doctor was trying to examine Connor. He'd brushed the man away at the time, but now Connor is exhausted and weak, and he doesn't think that he can resist the man, "G'way."

"Connor, let me take a look at you. C'mon, let's get you in here," He lets himself be led into an exam room, features impassive, and his whole body throbbing in agony, "Okay, Connor, can I take a look at your ribs? The ones you hurt. Connor?"

He can feel himself shutting down, can feel his emotions slipping away as he pulls up his t-shirt with one hand. This feels like the hospital before they would tell him about Murphy, this feels like uncertainty and the inability to function properly without his brother. This feels like Hell.

The doctor carefully prods the bruises that litter his chest, and Connor can't even bring himself to flinch away. Then the man lifts up his casted arm, and examines that, while Connor stares at the wall, and wonders how much longer Murphy will be in surgery for. "Connor, have you had any pain medication since right after the accident?"

Connor shakes his head, because even though he could tell the man about all the times Murphy had pain killers during the night, the exact times, he can't remember being given anything. "'m fine. Murphy is the one who's hurt."

"You sustained substantial injuries in the accident too, Connor. You're in pain too. I'm going to give you something to take the edge off for the moment, but I'd like to talk to your parents about this, if that's okay? You shouldn't be straining yourself, you should be at home resting, at least for a few days."

He shakes his head, but accepts the two pills that he's handed, "Ma's too worried about Murph. She don't need ta be worrying about me too. 's fine. I'm grand." Connor stands up shakily, looking at the clock, "I'd better get back. Murphy should be outta surgery by now."

"Connor—"

He ignores him though, and makes his way slowly out of the room. His runners scuff against the ground, and he forces himself to take deep breaths, despite how much it makes his ribs ache. Connor needs to get himself under control again, he needs to get himself together.

Slapping himself slightly on his cheeks before he enters the room, Connor scrubs at his sore eyes, and sits down in a chair, away from everyone else in the waiting room. Ma looks over at him, but knows not to approach him, and simply goes back to flipping through a worn magazine. She looks exhausted, but Connor has no energy to worry about anyone else but Murphy.

He closes his eyes, and just focuses on breathing. The painkillers are kicking in, and he actually feels okay.

For now, at least.

.

Murphy opens his eyes to people looming over him, and an unbearable pain in his legs.

"Agh!" He moans, and tries to move his head away from all the faces leaning over him, "Connor!"

He can see a nurse hurrying over with a syringe filled with something, and prays to God that it's some sort of painkiller. A hand cups his chin, and gently turns his gaze until he's staring into the eyes of a doctor, "Murphy, you need to calm down for us, can you do that? The surgery went well, you're just in Recovery now, but you have to calm down before we can transfer you back to your room, okay? I need you to take deep breaths, and calm youself."

Murphy wrenches his head away from the man's soft grip, because he doesn't like anyone touching his face, not even Connor on the best of days, and lifts a hand up to protect his face weakly, "Connor," He mewls again, and tries to look down at his legs, because _fuck_, they hurt.

They stand back slightly, probably because of the look of suffocation that he probably has on his face, and Murphy pushes himself up with his hands.

It's a stupid move, but he manages to get himself into a sitting position, hands braced on either side of him. His head spins with the sudden change in altitude, but Murphy ignores it, grasping hold of one of the bedrails for extra support.

His left leg, the one that they were supposed to surgically repair, is encased in a cast, one from his knee to his toe. It's bulky, and Murphy can see himself getting sick of it within seconds. Then he glances over at his right leg, and his jaw drops in horror.

There's some sort of brace fixed onto his leg, one with straps and rods, which looks practically bullet-proof. It goes from halfway up his thigh to his ankle, and there's no way that Murphy is going to be able to bend his leg with the brace on. He can see some glances of skin between the straps, and its either black and blue with bruises, or scraped almost raw.

Murphy bites his lip, and fights to keep some of his composure.

He flinches when a nurse begins to walk toward him, and starts to shake his head quickly, "No, no, no, I—I need Connor—Connor, I need _Connor_." He throws up a hand to beg them to stop coming towards him, and tastes blood from where he's digging into his lip, "I need Connor, I need my brother, _please_—can you just—"

A nurse exchanges a glance with the doctor, who is studying him carefully, and then trots quickly out of the room. Murphy focuses on taking deep breaths, though it's not doing much for his panicking, and just stares at his mangled legs.

If he can just wait until Connor gets there, it'll be okay, all he needs is Connor, Connor will know what to say. Connor will make things better again.

To their credit, none of the hospital staff move another inch, until his brother comes tearing into the Recovery room, probably sensing that Murphy was only just holding it together. The doctor just stands there, looking at Murphy looking at his legs, with the three nurses who have pity and sympathy written all over their faces. Murphy doesn't need their pity, he just needs his brother.

Connor barges his way through the small crowd, and is hanging onto Murphy's hand before he can even summon up the energy to lift his head.

"Connor?" He says quietly, because his brother is just standing there, shaking, not saying a word.

He clears his throat, and presses his blonde head into Murphy's shoulder, "Yer okay, Murph, yer okay. We're gonna fix this, I swear. Jus' gonna take a bit 'a time, but it'll be sorted. I promise, I promise, I promise. Na bí tu ag eisteach le aon duine eile, bíonn tu ag eisteacht le mise. A cloiseann tu cad a duirt me? Beidh gach rud ceart go leor." _You don't be listening to anyone else, you listen to me. You hear what I said? Everything will be okay. _

Murphy turns his head so that his face is pressed into Connor's hair, and he mutters, "Is amadáin é tusa, Connor. Níl aon rud ceart go leor." _You're an idiot, Connor. Nothing is okay._

.

Connor listens as Murphy breaths slowly, and then glances back at the doctor.

His brother is pressed against him, clutching tightly at his sleeve, and Connor is the only thing holding Murphy upright. And he's certain that Murphy will panic if Connor lets go.

Luckily, the other man seems to realise that, and slips carefully in beside the brothers. He eases down the guardrail, and nods for Connor to climb gently onto the bed. Connor does so, carefully situating himself so that he's curled up at the head of the bed, nowhere near the injured limbs, Murphy still supported against him.

Then the nurses begin to slowly manoeuvre the bed through the halls, Murphy pressing himself against Connor with all the strength that he has left. Connor holds onto him carefully, and is thankful for the fact that someone managed to throw a blanket over his brother's legs before they started moving.

Murphy didn't need to be looking down at his casted and braced legs every time he opened his eyes, didn't need to be reminded of just how broken he was. Connor didn't need to be reminded of that.

But he knew why his twin had freaked out because of it.

Murphy was the one who had always like control. He was the physical one, the brother who didn't care what they were doing, as long as there was a plan, even if it was a terrible one. Murphy just needed to know a rough outline, and then he'd be off, tearing across fields or climbing to the top of the whiskey cabinet in their uncle's pub.

But now there didn't seem to be any sort of a plan, everything falling apart, and Connor was forced to watch Murphy as he floundered, unsure and terrified. This was Murphy at his most fearful, when he got clingy and closed off, and defensive of everyone except Connor.

His arms tightened slightly around his dozing brother, and Connor scowled at anyone who glanced at them.

He was going to go find someone, and sort out a plan, as soon as Murphy was able to let him go. Connor was going to go and _fix_ this, in as many ways as he could. He was going to go, and find something to make this disaster better.

Connor was going to fucking make a plan.

.

_I hope this chapter was okay. Again, being a native Irish speaker I translated the Gaeilge quickly, but it may be missing a fada or something, so sorry if that is the case. I'd love to hear what you guys thought of this chapter, and I'll have the next one up as soon as I can._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	7. Chapter 7

_Guys… apologies for the long wait! Exams are coming up, and I may or may not be freaking out. _

_But I hope you all enjoy this chapter :) Thank you all so much for the reviews from the last chapter, I absolutely loved them all!_

_._

Connor leans in the doorway of Murphy's room, watching silently as his brother slept.

He was waiting for Ma to get back, she had gone down the hall to phone the supermarket that she worked at, to see how much time she could get off work. Connor chews at his lip, and studies his twin, Murphy sleeping dreamlessly after the sedative a nurse had given him.

When they had first gotten back to the room, Murphy had been clingy and wouldn't let anyone near him except Connor. He had been clutching tightly to Connor, and breathing shallowly, eyes wide and mistrusting. Connor hadn't known what to do, so he had just held onto his brother, and tried to keep tears from sliding down his face. Finally, two nurses had approached slowly, one to hold Murphy's hand tightly, and the other to inject the sedative into his IV port.

He had left Murphy twist weakly against him, and look at him with pain-filled eyes, but Connor hadn't done anything. Murphy needed the pain killers and medication, anyone could have seen that. So Connor had just pressed his lips to his brother's hair, and hadn't moved until Murphy had gone limp against him.

So now Connor was left, just watching.

.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts, and Connor whirls around to see Murphy's doctor looking at him, slightly bemused. "I heard that you were looking for me?"

Connor lets out a breath, and nods, "Aye, I was yeah. I jus' want ta talk ta ye about Murph an' his recovery. He's the kind of kid who needs a plan, an' he doesn't know what's goin' on cause of all the drugs, so I need ta be able ta explain things ta him. I need ta know the plan, so I can… y'know, make sure he sticks ta it."

"Well, okay, Connor," The doctor pauses for a moment, to look into Murphy's room, "I don't usually discuss patient plans with anyone other than the patient and their guardian, but I'll make an exception. This morning, we surgically repaired Murphy's left leg, with pins and screws. The tibia, and ankle bone were both quite badly damaged, but are now sitting in the right places, and all that's left on that leg is for the bones to heal properly."

He nods, and rubs at his casted wrist carefully, "What about his other leg?"

"That's more complicated. As a result of the blunt trauma, the car hitting him full force on his right leg, Murphy sustained many fractures. In a day or two, once he's more stable, we are going to go back in, and stabilise his right leg. Then, provided that the x-rays look okay, Murphy will be on his way to a full recovery. It'll take a lot of physical therapy and determination on Murphy's part, but he's going to be okay with time."

It isn't good enough for Connor though, and he rubs a hand over his face with exhaustion.

"Yeah, but _how long_? Murph's got ta have a timeline, he's got ta have something ta set his sights on. There has ta be something tha' ye can tell me."

The doctor takes a deep breath, and then glances back down at the chart in his hand, "Realistically, the casts should come off in about six weeks, give or take, but from there, it's all up to Murphy as to how hard he works at the therapy."

Connor nods, and clenches his good fist carefully, feeling frustration build up in him on Murphy's behalf, "He's gonna be the best fuckin' patient an' yer not even gonna believe how fast he's gonna get better. So ye jus' fuckin' watch him."

He walks back into the room, closing the door behind him without another glance back at the doctor.

Murphy stays asleep, though his head twitches slightly towards his brother, as Connor slumps down in the chair beside his bed. He reaches out his hand, and ruffles Murphy's hair gently. Even in sleep, Murphy looks tense and uncomfortable, as though he can somehow feel the worry radiating off Connor.

After only a minute or two, Ma walks in, and the look on her face is enough to make Connor jump up and ask frantically, "What's wrong? Is there—is there somethin' wrong with Murph?" He whirls around to look at his brother again, but nothing seems to be different.

Ma shakes her head, and sighs deeply, "I have ta go back home, Connor. The shop isn't lettin' me take any days off, I used 'em all up when it was yer birthdays, so I have ta." Connor knows that his face was fallen, but he doesn't have the energy to try and make it seem like things are okay, "I'm sorry, luv. But Murphy's medicals bills are gonna be expensive, an' we don't have that kind of money. I know that this is the public system, but down the line, he's gonna need things that the government won't pay fer. I can't afford ta lose this job. I'm sorry."

"When're ye leaving?"

Connor sits back down in the chair, and asks the question slowly, feeling numb. Ma puts a hand on his shoulder, but he doesn't even react to her, "Connor, I'm sorry, luv. I just have to go back until Sunday. They're lettin' me have yesterday an' today off, but I havta be back fer tomorrow morning. Ye know I havta."

"Yeah, I know." Connor gently put his hand on his brother's still shoulder, and looks up at his mother, "What am I gonna do though, Ma? I don't… I don't know how ta fix this. Murph's so… he's so broken an' hurtin', and I don't know."

"Maybe ya can't fix him this time," Ma says, and those words break Connor just a little but more, "But he'll get there. Murphy jus' need ye ta be his brother right now, and that's all you can do for him."

He shrugs, and leans back in the chair, slinging one arm over his eyes, and keeping the other hand clasped loosely around Murphy's limp one. Connor lets the darkness envelop him, and simply tries to concentrate on _not thinking_. Eventually, Ma leaves the room to give them some space perhaps, or talk to more doctors, Connor doesn't really care either way.

Because he has to get his head straight, and figure out how to deal with this by himself.

.

Murphy can feel the warmth of someone's hand clutching his, and within a second he can tell that it's Connor.

He knows that it's Connor, because of the scars that he has memorized on his brother's palm. It's also Connor beside him, because only his brother knows the perfect balance of not holding loosely enough to make it seem like he's not there, but not squeezing hard enough to panic him.

It's definitely Connor, because the moment that Murphy's eyes start twitching open, he can feel his brother moving closer, and a little part of him calms, "Connor?"

"'s me, Murph, it's me. Ye feelin' okay?"

Connor sounds terrible, voice hoarse and strained, but it's the same one that Murphy has heard every single day of his life, and it makes things better. He licks his lips sluggishly, his throat feeling like sandpaper, and raises his eyebrows, "I guess… it's not like it can get much worse than this." He regrets the words immediately, as Connor's face falls, and Murphy quickly backpedals, "Kidding, Connor, I'm jus' havin' the craic. I'm fine, can barely feel a thing thanks to these fuckin' pain killers."

"Ma has ta go home."

Murphy takes a moment to be sure that he's in control, and then struggles to prop himself up. He nods weakly at Connor, when his twin fumbles with the bed controls, before finally managing to get the bed into a semi-sitting position.

"Ye goin' with her?"

His brother flinches at the question, and stares at Murphy with large eyes, "Course not, Murph, course not. There's no fuckin' way tha' I'm leavin' ye here. No way. I go home, when you go home, you got it? No more of this doubting shit."

The rush of relief that goes through Murphy, and lifts the weight off his chest is unbelievable. He lifts a lethargic hand up to rub at his eyes, and gives Connor a lopsided grin, "Okay."

Connor scoffs back at him, "Yeah it's okay. I can't be goin' an' leavin' ye alone without yer big brother now, can I?" He lets out a groan, and bats away his twin's hair ruffle with a scowl, "Don't freak out, Murph, keep it together."

He lets his hand flop back onto the bed, and then glances down at his legs. Murphy can see the outline of his legs underneath the blankets, and they look bigger than usual, because of the immobilizers. Connor distracts him by leaning over and resting his head against Murphy's shoulder for a moment, not saying anything.

"What's goin' ta happen, Connor?"

"I talked ta the doc, a few minutes ago. Before ye woke up. An' he said… he said tha' yer gonna be fine. Ye have one more surgery, tomorrow or the day after, an' then yer home dry. Then its a few weeks of bein' at home, an' being spoiled rotten by everyone, an' then the hard work begins. See, tha' doesn't sound so hard, does it?"

Murphy avoids Connor's gaze, and stares carefully at the opposite wall, "It does."

There's another silence, and then Connor speaks again, "That's cause yer lazy, Murph. It'll be fine, I promise. We'll get through it together, an' before ye know it, things'll be back ta normal."

He twists his free hand up in the sheets, and clutches Connor's hand in his other, chewing on his lip. Murphy just wants to be home, wants things to be normal _now_. But when he looks at his brother, Connor is near tears himself, and seems to just only be holding it together.

Murphy thinks that Connor is the one who needs a big brother.

"Okay."

.

When Ma comes back into the room, an hour or so later, she's dressed in her coat, and there are tears in her eyes.

Connor steps back so she can get closer to Murphy, and looks away when she hugs him tightly, "Did Connor tell ye what has ta happen?" Murphy nods quietly, his face pressed into Ma's shoulder, "I'm sorry, Murphy, I'm so, so sorry. I'll be back on Sunday, okay, and I'll call ye every night and morning, okay?"

"Okay, Ma."

She pulls away after a few long minutes, and gives Murphy a big watery smile, "Yer so brave, Murphy, yer tough as nails. Anytime tha' ye want ta call me, jus' get Connor ta ring the shop, an' I'll be there. Anytime that ye want ta… want ta talk, or anythin' or jus'… ye can call whenever ye want, okay?"

"Okay, Ma."

Connor runs a hand through his hair as his mother turns to him, and breathes in deeply as she pulls him into a tight embrace, "You take care of him, Connor, you make sure that he's okay. Yer the best person tha' he needs right now, jus' be his brother. Look out fer yer brother."

He holds out his hand in surprise when Ma presses a wad of cash into it, and his mouth drops open in surprise. "Ma—wha—"

But she just nods carefully, and smiles at him, "Okay, be good fer me, ye ungrateful pissants." Both brothers let out snort of laughter at the term of endearment, and Connor rolls his eyes, "I'll call ye both when I make it back home. No messing, boys."

Murphy rubs at his eyes for a moment, when Ma leaves the room, and Connor simply sighs along with him. They sit in silence for a few moments, both just breathing in the quiet, before Murphy reaches over and nudges Connor.

"So… are there any hot nurses in here?"

.

_I hope you all liked this! I'd love to hear what you guys thought :) I'll have the next chapter up by next weekend!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	8. Chapter 8

_I hope people are still interested in this story._

.

They spend the next day watching bad television.

Murphy is quiet, lying still in the bed with his lips pressed together, and his body leaning against Connor's. He only speaks to ask his brother for something, usually in a mixture of languages, but Connor manages to translate, because he can tell that Murphy is disoriented and totally unsure of everything.

Connor is exhausted. He lounges in the chair beside his brother's bed, as close to Murphy as he can get, and feels the tiredness wash over him. The previous night had been tough, with Murphy crying out in pain more than once, but Connor had been there every time, to wipe Murphy's sweaty hair off his forehead and listen to his moans of pain.

The TV drones on, but neither of them are listening. Still, Connor asks Murphy every hour or so if he wants to change the channel, if only to keep up the façade of normality. His brother shakes his head silently every time. Connor lets his eyes drift closed a few times, but only for a moment, before he jolts back to full consciousness and makes Murphy whimper at the sudden movement. "Tá brón orm," _I'm sorry_. He says each time it happens, and each time Murphy answers the same.

"Tá sé ceart go leor." _It's okay._

But the thing is is that nothing is okay, and Connor is painfully aware of the fact. He flicks to another TV station, and hates himself a little more for not being able to do anything. Beside him, Murphy sniffs quietly, and rubs at his face to stop tears from rolling down his cheeks.

And Connor can't do anything about it.

.

The nurses come in and out every hour or so, to fiddle with IVs and make pitying faces at the two brothers.

Connor keeps an eye on his brother during these few minutes, tries to inconspicuously make sure that Murphy isn't going to freak out, and what he sees scares him. It isn't that Murphy is acting scared, or that he's anxious or anything, it's that he's not.

His brother stays perfectly still during the nurse's visits, just tenses his back up and doesn't move for the whole time. Murphy's face goes blank, and he just lets his arms go slack. He doesn't flinch when they stick him painfully for a blood test, or squirm when they're checking his oxygen stats. Murphy lets his limp hands be picked up, lets them take his blood pressure silently, and doesn't even blush when a young nurse tells him that he's a _cutie_.

And when it's over, when everyone is out of the room again, Murphy just leans back, into Connor.

He doesn't say anything, not when Connor asks him gentle questions. Murphy just shrugs, and stares at the TV with blank eyes. This make Connor's eyes well up with tears that he can't really explain, and Murphy still won't say anything, but he does slip his hand into Connor's, and squeeze.

The day goes on like this, in an endless cycle, and Connor wishes that it would just end.

.

Murphy feels numb.

He stares at the brightly coloured pictures on the TV screen, and chews on the inside of his mouth carefully. It's hard to fight down the thought that he's _trapped_, that even if there was an emergency he wouldn't be able to get out of the bed.

Beside him, Connor fidgets and shifts in his chair, and glances over at him. Murphy can't bring himself to muster up the strength to look back at his twin, can't seem to make any words slip through his lips other than the occasional, "Tá sé ceart go leor_," It's okay_, when Connor apologises for no reason.

That doesn't mean that he doesn't know Connor is hurting though.

When his brother stands up to go to the bathroom, he winces and grunts with pain, and then pretends that it didn't happen, "M' goin' ta the jacks, Murph. It's down th' hall an' some stairs so I'll be a while. Do ye need anythin'?"

Murphy shakes his head, and turns it slightly to watch his brother shuffle painfully out of the room. He frowns, and then reaches down for the call button that is resting beside his pillow, pressing the red button with shaky but determined fingers. It only takes a moment or two for a nurse to come running in, concerned expression plastered all over her face. He winces as she comes closer, and holds up his hands slowly as if to fend her off.

"'m fine, I jus' need ta ask you somethin'," He says quickly, and bites at his thumb while she glances over at the monitors anyway, "It's about my brother, Connor. He—he got hurt in the accident too, broke some ribs an' his wrist, an' he's hurtin' but he doesn't know how ta accept help. Would ye… could ye give him some sorta painkiller before he goes ta sleep, but one tha' will actually makes him sleep properly. Cause he's been sleepin' beside me bed, an' he wakes up every ten seconds ta check on me."

The nurse gives him a tiny smile, and looks like she understands completely, "I think I can arrange that, Murphy. He's due for some pain medication soon anyway, and with the state of exhaustion that he's been in, I'm sure it'll knock him right out."

He frowns slightly at that, at the realisation that even the nurses could tell that Connor was wiped out, and _they didn't even know him_.

But then Murphy manages to grin back at her, and thanks her gratefully, adding in, "Jus' don't tell him tha' it'll send him ta sleep. He won't take it then."

She nods again, and pats him on the shoulder gently. Then Connor staggers back through the door, and stops in his tracks, "What's wrong? What happened—Murph, ye okay? are ya—" All the colour drains from his face, and he looks petrified.

Murphy grins at his brother, and says quickly, "Nothin's wrong, mo dheartháir _my brother_, I'm grand. I was jus' havin' some banter with…" He squints at the nurse's nametag, "…Amy here, wasn't I?"

"Ah, here now, love, ye don't want ta be getting' inta it with my little brother, here. I'm the only MacManus tha' ye need." Connor recovers quickly, and winks comically at the nurse, who then bursts into laughter and smiles widely at them.

Her pager goes off a few seconds later, and she gives them one last smile, before hurrying out of the room.

Connor looks at him then, and the room seems that bit brighter. Murphy can see his brother coming back to his old self, even though he is injured and worn down. He grins at him, and makes a motion with his head for his twin to come over.

"C'mon, ye eegit, there's an episode of _The A-Team_ on an' I haven't seen it yet."

His brother pauses for a moment, and then says quickly, "I'll be back in a minute, Murph, don't move!" and races out the door as fast as he could, holding his ribs. Murphy rolls his eyes at the last comment, and sits patiently until his brother renters the room a few minutes later.

Connor is holding a jumbo packet of popcorn in his hands, and two diet cokes in his hands, from the hospital shop.

Murphy beams back at him.

.

_Okay guys, I know this update is long overdue, and I apologise. It's the New Year now though, and I have a plan and am motivated, so I'm going to update this regularly again. _

_I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter (future ones will be longer, I'm just getting this one out quickly to get into this story again—but more action and angst is coming), so I'd really appreciate any feedback that you want to give me. If you're still reading this story, that is!_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you guys so much for the reviews from the last chapter. I really appreciate them all :)_

.

When it gets dark outside, and the TV starts to make their eyes hurt, Murphy lets out a yawn.

His brother is immediately tense again, and but doesn't say anything, instead just lying still while Murphy presses his head into Connor's shoulder. They're both kind of on the bed now. Murphy is mostly in the middle, but as scooted over as he could manage before Connor stopped him, hating the ashen look on his face. So now Connor is half on the bed, his legs resting on a chair, but his torso pressed up against his brother. Murphy craves the contact, though he would never admit it.

A nurse had come in to give him his due round of pain medication an hour before, and Murphy could already feel it wearing him out. The screen blurs a little bit, and the tinny sound starts to crank up the static in his head.

Murphy lifts a hand to rub at his eyes, feeling more exhausted than ever before, "Connor?" He slurs, and blinks lazily at his twin when he turns to look at him, "'m getting' tired, an'—" he let out a yawn, "I think tha' ye are too."

"Not as tired at as ye are though," Connor lets out a quiet chuckle, and went to slide off the bed, "Time fer bed, Murph."

He latches a hand out to grab his brother's sleeve though, just before Connor gets out of reach, and struggles to keep his eyes open, "It wasn't yer fault, ye know." Connor freezes, and avoids Murphy's eyes, which are drooping more by the second, "It wasn't, ye eegit, it _wasn't_."

Connor doesn't reply immediately though, simply leaning back to press his forehead against Murphy's forehead, and smooth down his messy hair, "Try ta get some sleep, Murph."

He wants to dispute the matter, wants to stay up all night and hash it out if that's what it takes to convince his brother, but Connor is pulling the covers up to his chin, and he's just _so tired_. Connor begins to hum a simple tune, one that Murphy recognises as an Irish folk song, and that wears him right out.

Murphy falls asleep to the sound of Connor humming, and the feeling of his brother's hand wrapped loosely around his own.

.

The sound of Murphy's quiet breathing fills the room, and its only then that Connor lets his head drop into his hands. He stays like that for a moment, just listening to his brother breathe, and riding out the pain in his ribs that has been throbbing all day.

Then Connor stands up quietly, once he's sure that Murphy is asleep, and creeps out of the room.

He goes to the payphone in the hospital lobby, and rests his head against the glass while he listens to the dial tone. His fingers are shaky as he tries to slot a few pennies into the machine, his cast making the task difficult, but Connor gets it done, and soon the phone is ringing. It's answered almost immediately, and he closes his eyes briefly.

"Ma?"

The voice on the other end responds immediately, and is full of worry and concern, "_Connor? Are ye okay? Is yer brother okay? What's goin' on, do ye need anythin'—do ye—is Murphy okay? Connor? Connor, answer me, luv, are ye okay_?"

He closes his eyes again for a moment, relief flooding through him, "Aye, he's okay, Ma. He fell asleep a few minutes ago, I just—I wanted ta hear yer voice. Sorry."

"_No, Connor, don't apologise, luv, don't ever apologise fer that. I'm sorry tha' I can't be there. Now, are ye okay?"_

Connor nods, and then feels stupid, because obviously she can't see him, "Aye, Ma, I'm fine too. Jus' tired. I figured tha' ye would want me ta call ye before I go ta sleep. How's work?"

His mother let out a sigh, and he could just picture her, with her feet proppped up against the counter in the empty shop, _"The same as normal. Little shits keep comin' inta try an' scam me outta the vodka and whiskey, but they're lackin' yer brains an' Murphy's charm_."

"Maybe we'll havta give the local kids a lesson in bein' us, then so," Connor lets out a tired laugh, and taps his cast gently against the payphone, "Listen, Ma, I'm almost outta minutes. An' I havta get back ta Murph, jus' in case he wakes up an' I'm not there."

There's a sad element in his mother's voice, but its mixed with something that he hasn't heard before, not until she tells him, "_I'm proud of ye, Connor. I am so, so proud. Now ye get back up ta yer brother, an' get yer skinny behind inta a bed, ye hear? Okay, night, luv._"

"Night, Ma—" Connor replies, but the phone hangs up before he can hear her respond, and he's left staring at the payphone, wondering if she heard him.

But there's nothing that he can do about it, so he places the phone back where it belongs after another minute of just staring at it, and starts to make his way back to Murphy again. He just hopes that his brother hasn't woken in his absence.

Connor is really starting to hate this lack of control.

.

Luckily, Murphy is still out like a light when he gets back, lying flat and outstretched on his back.

The red road rash is still painfully obvious on Murphy's face, and it makes Connor wince every time he glances at it. To add to that, he'd had to watch Murphy try and drag himself a few inches to the side earlier to try and make room for him on the bed, because Murphy was always the stubborn one, but fail because his legs were too broken, were too painful and immobilized.

Connor is interrupted in his scrutiny of his brother by a nurse knocking on the door, and she sticks her head around cheerfully.

"Can I help ye?" He asks roughly, not caring for a split second about keeping up appearances, running a hand through his blonde hair.

She gives him a small smile, "Here's your pain medication for the night, and an extra blanket in case you get chilly," In her hand are two large white pills, which Connor just stares at silently, before shaking his head, "You need to take these, Connor. They've been prescribed by your doctor, and I'll have to page him if you won't take them. They'll keep you comfortable and relatively pain-free for the night."

He is tempted to refuse the pills, and just deal with consequences, but it seems like too much effort, so he gives in. Connor swallows the pills quickly, grimacing at the taste, and accepts the blanket with a nod, wishing that the nurse would just leave.

When she finally does, after checking up on a sleeping Murphy, Connor drags out the small cot, and practically collapses onto it, the extra blanket snug around him.

Then his world swirls into darkness and safeness, and he's asleep the second his head hits the pillow.

.

Murphy watches worriedly as doctors flood into his room, pushing himself up into a sitting position, "What's going on?"

The TV is a low hum in the background, something that had been distracting Murphy had been waiting for Connor to wake up.

"You're having another surgery on your leg, Murphy," A nurse tells him efficiently, pushing up the bedrails on his bed, while someone else disconnects the blood pressure cuff that had been strapped onto him during the night."

No one had told him though, and fear rips through him. He whips his head around, still slightly disoriented, and sees Connor still asleep in the corner, "Wait, someone has ta wake m'brother, ye havta wake him up!" Murphy grasps at one of the doctor's arms, and looks desperately over at his brother, "Ye havta wake him—I need—ya havta wake him up."

That night had been an equally as horrible one for Murphy, with him waking up in tears three or four times, only to have some stranger leaning over him and trying to comfort him. He'd longed for Connor each time, but every glance that he'd taken into the corner where his brother was curled up on the cot, had reassured Murphy that Connor needed his sleep.

But he knew that Connor would flip out if he woke and Murphy was gone.

Eventually, someone listens to him, and bends down to shake Connor's shoulder roughly. Murphy leans forward as much as he can, weakly shaking off the hands that try to push him back, and calls out, "Connor, Connor, wake up, man, this is fuckin' ridiculous."

Connor groans, and cracks an eye open as a doctor gives him another light shove. He rubs at his face in confusion, upon seeing all the people in the room, and then his eyes widen in realisation and he jolts awake, "What—_Murph_!"

He watches his brother stagger to his feet, reeling from the sudden shock, and gives him a tight smile when Connor reaches his bedside, "Surprise, Connor, looks like I'm due fer another surgery this morning."

A nurse attempts to push Connor back slightly then, but his brother stands his ground, and frowns suddenly, "Wait—what, Murph? I don't—I don't remember anythin' from last night. Did ye wake up in th' night or anythin' or did… What th' fuck?"

Murphy shifts uncomfortably as someone leans over him, and pushes down the feeling that _there's too many people and too close too close too close_. "I was fine, Connor," He lies, and grabs onto his brother's hand, "Everythin' was _fine_." Murphy remembers waking up and feeling as though his legs were on fire with agony, but he manages to keep it together, "Did ye sleep well?"

But the twins are cut off by a nurse carefully pulling their hands apart, and Murphy's bed rolling forward a fraction.

Connor looks terrified and totally confused, having only just woken up, and Murphy gives him a calm smile, though its anything but what he's really feeling. "It's okay, Connor, it's okay. I'll see ye soon, okay? Jus—jus' be there when I wake up, yeah?"

His brother nods, and shoves his way to Murphy's side once more, to lean down and press his lips to his forehead. Then he grasps the back of his head, and they spend a second closing their eyes and just being close to one another. "Aye, I'll be there," Connor whispers, and Murphy can hear the pain in his voice.

"I'll see ye then, so."

He is wheeled out of the room then, and Murphy rubs at his eyes the second that he's out the door. He tries his best to turn around then, so he can see Connor for as long as possible, but all he can see is the lonely figure of his brother, in the now empty room, before the door shuts. All his emotions come rushing back then, and he sniffs as quietly as he can, staring up at the tiled ceiling.

"Someone has ta take care of m'brother," He tries to say, "He's all alone, and I—"

But Murphy gives up then, because his voice is too quiet and scared for anyone to hear him. He covers his face with one arm to shield himself from the prying eyes and the bright white lights, and pretends that he is as confident as he sounded to Connor.

And then he tries to pretend like its working.

.

_I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I'll try and have the next one up sometime before next weekend, if that's okay :) I'd love to hear any comments or feedback that you have on this chapter, because I love all of your reviews, and they're what gets me writing the next chapter faster!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	10. Chapter 10

_Thank you for all the lovely reviews! I really, really appreciate them._

.

Connor sits down in the chair he had occupied for hours the previous day, and rubs at his eyes in slight confusion.

His head felt like it was made out of cotton, and he feels horribly disoriented and completely overwhelmed. The bone aching tiredness that had been plaguing him constantly seems to have died down though, and he thanks God for that. At least he could focus properly without feeling like he was about to pass out.

The cast on his wrist was heavy and rock solid as he thumps it against the arm of the chair, brow furrowed in concentration. No one had told Connor that Murphy had been due for another surgery that morning, and it hadn't looked like Murphy had been prepared either. He grits his teeth in frustration when he realises that they had probably told Ma before she left, and that none of the nursing staff had thought to even mention it to the two brothers.

It was typical of their luck.

Still, there was nothing that he could do about it now, Connor rationalises, and gets up slowly. He knows that it'll probably be hours until he gets Murphy back, until he can see his brother again, so he decides to be as productive as possible. Connor stands for a moment, just letting everything sink in properly, and then heads off shakily in the direction of the corridor, and the nurses' station.

When he reaches the desk, he licks his lips carefully for a second, and then puts on a charming smile, "Hi there, 'm Connor MacManus… My brother Murphy is in room 342, an'—someone told me on the first day tha' there's a facility fer family members ta have a shower or somethin'? Would ye be able ta tell me more about tha'?"

"Of course, Mr MacManus," The nurse replies without looking up, and then breaks into a smile when she sees his grinning face, "I'll have to get you a cover for that cast though, if you're planning to get in the shower," Connor nods at her, and she stands up to rummage in a cupboard full of various medical knick-knacks, before finally coming up with what looks like a plastic bag, "Here we are…"

A few minutes later, Connor is standing in a cramped bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His shirt and jeans are crumpled and worn, and the small part of him that realises he should still care about his appearance is long gone. Instead, he only sees pain and the empty space beside him that Murphy would normally occupy. Connor bites down on his bottom lip, and shrugs out of his t-shirt, eyes scrunching up because of the pain that shoots through his ribs.

But he's alone, and he has things under control, and that's what he just keeps repeating to himself.

He can pull it together.

.

A half hour later, Connor is back in Murphy's room, and feeling much more human.

There's a piping hot cup of coffee beside him, and while his head is still spinning from the shower, he feels like he's able to manage some food. Connor spends a few more minutes staring at the sandwich he'd purchased from the cafeteria, and wonders if the sick feeling in his stomach is from nerves or actual nausea.

He eats a few bites of the sandwich anyway, and tries not to look at the empty bed.

When Connor had come back to Murphy's room after cleaning himself up and getting some actual food, he'd been taken aback to see that the bed had been brought back, and remade with new sheets and starchy pillows. He doesn't like it though. It makes it feel like Murphy had never been there, like his brother had never tossed and cried and slept in the bed, now that it looked new.

So he doesn't look in that direction, not at all, and stares out into the hallway.

He feels so refreshed from the previous night's sleep. Connor can keep his eyes open for longer than a few minutes now, and they don't feel like they're burning from that gritty, exhausted feeling. Even the small cot he curled up on last night had felt as comfortable as his own bed, back at home.

But there was something bothering him about the way Murphy had said_, __"I was fine, Connor. Everythin' was__fine__," _when he'd asked him about the previous night, just before his brother had been wheeled away faster than he could process. It didn't make sense that the one night he'd slept well, Murphy had also.

Connor was all for believing in the 'twin mojo,' but even that seemed to be too good to be true.

Murphy's chart is sitting at the end of his bed, probably forgotten by a nurse or something, and Connor glances around for a few seconds before leaning forward and snagging the sheaf of papers. He almost doesn't want to look through it, to almost have to relieve all his brother's pain, but he steels himself and flips it open anyway. Connor doesn't understand most of it anyway, just random words at first, but he scans through each page carefully.

It's when he reaches the last page, the one that documents the previous night, that his suspicions are confirmed.

All Connor can do is shake his head and sigh heavily as he reads down through all the recorded times that Murphy had cried out in the middle of the night, or had woken up crying because of the pain or nightmares. All the times that a nurse had come running in to be at his side, instead of Connor.

"Ah, Murph, ye stupid… why didn't ye jus' wake me?" He mutters to himself, already knowing the answer.

His refreshed state suddenly feels wrong and Connor feels ashamed. Though he wanted to blame himself for everything, he just _knew_ that Murphy was behind the whole thing. It was the kind of stupid, self-sacrificing thing that his brother would do, suffer alone just to make sure that Connor got a good night's sleep.

Well, he was going to be sure that that never happened again.

.

After another hours or so has gone by, Connor has been reduced to tipping his chair back skilfully, and staring at the ceiling for long periods of time, until the chair falls back down to the ground. And then he just starts all over again.

There's still no sign of Murphy, no updates, no nothing.

Connor guesses that it's because he's a minor, and not a parent or something. All the times that he'd gone anxiously over to the nurses' desk, for information or reassurance, _anything_, he'd been rebuffed and sent politely away.

"Hey, kid, you okay?" The voice that comes from over near the door snaps him out of his trance, and the four legs of the chair slam onto the ground with a bang. Connor runs a hand through his damp hair, and blinks several times, turning to stare at the unknown person.

"Murphy?" The word is out of his mouth before he can think, and from first glance it's clear that the stranger isn't a doctor or nurse, with his tatty clothes and small cart piled up with what looks like… books?

The man shakes his head, confused, and gestures down at the books in front of him, "I was just wondering if you wanted to borrow a book? It's a part of the hospital's volunteer system, where people donate books to the hospital, and patients and family members can avail of the gesture. You look pretty bored, kid."

Connor lets out a careful laugh, and drags himself out of the chair to the other man, "I'm Connor, thanks." He looks down at the dozens of worn books and raises his eyes, "An' ye jus' do this fer free? Give out books, an' stuff?" His eyes are already moving over the worn titles, searching out for something that Murphy might like to read.

"Well, we accept donations whenever possible, but yes, it's for free. You can return the books down to the stand in the main lobby when you're finished with them. Would you like to borrow anything?"

He nods, and notices the tin full of copper coins lodged in between two hardbacks. As he's making his choice, Connor digs a few notes out of his pocket, and stuffs them into the donation tin, long fingers skimming the spines of the books in concentration.

The volunteer guy thanks him profusely, and Connor smiles gratefully at him before easing out a few comics for Murphy, and what looks like a travel book for himself. "Thank you," He says sincerely, and the man gives him one last grin before moving on, pushing the squeaky, rattling cart down the corridor, whistling quietly to himself.

Connor retreats back into Murphy's room, and finds himself smiling down at the books in his hands.

His brother always liked comics when he was younger, the classic superhero ones, they both did, so Connor tossed the three old comics onto the bed, and looked down at the book he'd grabbed at random for himself. It was a travel book, one for American cities, and he flipped through it, interested.

What he saw in the pages intrigued him though, the huge buildings like nothing he had ever seen, and the sheer amount of people mind boggling. Coming from a small town in the middle of nowhere, Connor knew there were big cities in other countries, yeah. He'd learnt the languages of a few countries so far, along with his brother, but they'd never talked about actually going anywhere before. Ma had brought him and Murphy up to Dublin once though, when they were younger, and it had been overwhelming.

But to have this thick book full of pictures and information was the best thing that had happened to him all day.

Connor goes back to the beginning of the book, and begins to read it properly, soaking up all the facts and information, and pouring over the shiny pictures.

.

Murphy is brought back to his room in a blur of lights and people talking over him.

He can't feel anything but the warm fuzziness of the painkillers, and all his energy seems to have been sapped as he forces his eyes open blearily for a second. He doesn't know what's going on, but he hopes that Connor will be there soon, because he already misses him, and his eyes have slipped closed again.

Next thing that Murphy knows, he's getting lifted into a different bed by several strangers, and there's still hands touching him everywhere and fiddling with IV lines and such. He can't help the quiet whine that makes its way out of him.

Then all he can hear is his brother's voice, and Connor's hand is cool on his face.

"Yer okay, Murph, jus' calm down, okay? Yer back now, and ye can jus' take it easy, okay?" Connor's face comes into focus after a few moments, and he smiles sadly down at Murphy, "See, I'm here, an' I'm not goin' anywhere. Yer good."

When all the other people in the room leave, Murphy forces himself to try and wake up again, but all he can manage is a few weak minutes of opening his eyes, "C-Connor?"

Connor settles himself in the chair beside his bed, and nods, "Aye, I'm here, Murph. Ye jus' try an' go back ta sleep now, an' look, I'll read ye this book I got. It's about America, Murph, an' the cities, an' I'll show ye th' pictures later, okay? But here, ye jus' listen fer now."

He falls asleep to the quiet voice of his brother describing some of the best tourist sites in Boston, Connor's casted hand resting firmly on his chest.

.

_I hope you all liked this chapter. The book donation thing is something that's actually real, in one of the hospitals near me :) Plus, I felt like Connor could use something nice. Would love to hear what you guys thought of this, if you have a spare minute. I'll try and have the next chapter up in a few days, so keep an eye out!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	11. Chapter 11

_Hey guys, thanks for all the reviews from the last chapter. I hope you enjoy this one._

.

Connor flinches for the third time, as Murphy lets out another moan.

His brother is propped up on several pillows, eyes shifting slightly under closed lids, and his face is pale. Murphy was always a restless sleeper, having nightmares every month or so, but Connor has never seen his twin so… distressed in sleep.

He reaches a hand out, hesitating for a moment, before gently pressing his palm against Murphy's forehead. Just as he'd feared, Murphy feels like he's burning up, and he lets out a whine and shifts his head so it presses into Connor's cool hand more.

"It's okay, Murph," He says softly, and chews on his bottom lip, a habit picked up from his brother, "Jus' try ta sleep."

Connor doesn't get a reply, not that he was expecting one, and he doesn't move for a minute or two, just stays still with his hand pressed to Murphy's forehead. Then he reluctantly breaks the contact, and stands up with only a hint of pain.

Standing in the doorway of Murphy's room, unwilling to let his brother out of his sight, Connor manages to flag down a nurse, and wave her over, "M'brother, Murph, he feels like he's got a fever, an' he's not sleeping properly, an' I dunno if he's in pain or not, an'—can ye jus' take a look at him, please?"

The nurse takes pity on him, even slipping a gentle smile onto her face, and makes her way quietly over to his brother's bedside. She takes Murphy's temperature without him even waking up fully, pauses to look at the numbers on some of the monitors, and manoeuvres the blood pressure cuff onto his bicep silently. Connor comes over at that point, to hover beside her, unsure of what to do if Murphy were to wake up, and freak at the unexpected pressure.

When she was finished, ending with a slender hand pressed to Murphy's forehead, she makes a few notes in his chart, and then turns to Connor.

"Murphy has got a slightly post op fever. It's nothing really to be concerned about yet, it's quite common, and your brother has been through a substantial amount of trauma. But we'll monitor it closely, and if it doesn't start to go down, we'll deal with it then, okay?"

He nodded carefully, eyes flickering over to Murphy's still form, "So he's okay? I mean, like, it'll be fine once the fever starts ta go away?"

"His fever isn't too high at the moment, so nothing is major just yet. I'll get his doctor to look in on him in an hour or so, just to be sure. Now, is there anything that you need, Connor?"

Connor's surprised that she knows his name, never having seen her before, but then he realises that it probably as shocking as he thinks. It's probably not every week that a set of twins check into the orthopaedic ICU, one injured, and the other refusing to leave.

"Nah, I'm fine. Thanks, though." He replies, already moving towards his chair so he can be closer to his brother again. The nurse gives the brothers one last pitying look, and then leaves, having to deal with other patients and do rounds.

It's just Connor and Murphy in the room again, and somehow Murphy senses this, turning his face towards his brother again in sleep.

Picking up the book with one hand, Connor gently settles his casted hand beside Murphy's face, so that his fingers brush against Murphy's cheek, and his wrist is elevated at the same time. He then balances the book on his knees, staring down at the brightly coloured pictures, and tries to give his sleeping brother a strained smile.

"Okay, Murph, ye want ta hear about New York again? The Big Apple, across the Pond, yeah? Ye jus' relax there, ye big eegit, agus eist liom." _And listen to me._ Connor wonders briefly if he should translate the page into Gaeilge, Murphy's favourite language, but he decides against it, and settles for just reading the glossy pages aloud for the second time.

He slips into a gentle rhythm of reading and focusing on the page, and listening to Murphy just _breathe_.

And it's almost okay.

.

Murphy wakes up to the cold, and tremors wracking his body.

He's freezing, and just as he's about to call out for Connor to give him back the blanket, he comes back to himself, and tears well up in his eyes. This isn't home, and his brother hasn't just nicked his blanket in the middle of the night.

Light is streaming into the room, the _hospital_ room, and there's a cast on his chest, and it feels like the time when the hot water immersion broke, and Murphy had to take a cold showers for three weeks.

All Murphy wants to do is curl up in a small ball, and close his eyes until things can get better, but he can feel two heavy immobilisers on his legs. _They're pinning him to the bed, and he'll never get out, no no. Too much too much too—_

"Murphy. Murph, calm down. Ye've got a fever, but yer fine. C'mon, breathe properly, none of this wheezing shite. Y'hear? Murph!"

Suddenly, Connor's voice breaks through to him, and Murphy opens his eyes against the harsh light to see his brother standing over him, one hand gripping his shoulder. He feels his face fall, a pathetic look on his face, and he shakes his head.

"T-too cold, Conn, too cold, I—I can't move—too cold."

His brother shakes his head, and keeps his hand on Murphy's shoulder, half holding him in place and half keeping him focused, "Yer fever is too high, Murph, that's why yer cold. Th' nurse said it should be getting better," Connor nods when Murphy shakes his head, and lets out a tired chuckle, "It is, Murph, it is. An' course ye can move, jus' not as much at th' moment. Remember ye had tha' surgery this mornin'? Yer gonna be stiff an' sore, so maybe leave th' movin' fer tomorrow, yeah?"

"N-no, I'm too cold, Connor, please get me a blanket, please, I'm too cold, no no no no…" Murphy reaches out for his brother, who clasps his hands and looks heartbroken.

"Yer not cold, yer warm, Murphy. I can't give ye more blankets, yer supposed ta be getting' yer fever down. Don't look at me like tha', ye know I can't. Jus' calm down, an' we'll sort somethin' out, okay? I can't do anythin' till ye stop acting up like tha'."

It takes him a few minutes, but Murphy eventually manages to calm his muted pleas, and slow his breathing.

When that happens, Connor gives him a genuine smile, the worry for him shining through in his brother's eyes, and seems to relax a bit. Murphy is still trembling though, and after a few seconds, it's clear that just Connor holding onto his shaking hands isn't going to cut it.

"Connor." He pulls back the duvet weakly with one of his hands, and makes a face at his brother, "Connor, please."

After a moment of hesitation, during which Connor tries not to let his eyes stray down to the bulky cast and brace, he climbs carefully onto the bed with Murphy, "I don't want ta hurt ye," He mutters, as Murphy buries his face into Connor's shoulder.

"Ye wont," Comes the muffled reply, "Ye won't, ye won't. I jus' need ye ta be beside me… I don't like this bed."

"I know ye don't."

Murphy lets out a choked sob, and then says, "I don't like this hospital."

"I know ye don't. I don't either."

"Don't leave me here, Connor."

"I won't. I never will. I go home, when ye go home."

There are a few moments of silence, during which Murphy listens to the beeping sounds of the heart monitor, and wishes that he could change everything. Connor's shoulder is sturdy and warm, and he just needs the contact, no matter how childish he must seem.

"Am I gonna get home?"

"Course ye are, Murph. That's a stupid question, ye'll be outta this place in no time."

"If you say so."

"I do. I do fuckin' say so."

"Okay."

Connor runs his uninjured hand through Murphy's slightly sweaty hair, and sighs shakily. The room smells like antiseptic and pain, and it's too bright, but Connor smells like dirt and their washing detergent and he smells like Murphy and it almost makes it okay. Then Connor turns his head slightly, neither meeting each other's eyes, and lets his voice drop to a whisper.

"Do you hate me 'cause it was my fault?"

"It wasn't yer fault. It was tha' car's fault. Stupid bastard."

"I was fightin' with ye though. An' then the car came out of nowhere, an' it was comin' fer me, and ye—an' then I was yellin' fer ye, and ye didn't answer me."

"I'm sorry. About the blackberries, an' about not answerin' ye."

He receives a gentle nudge from his brother, and Murphy lets out a smile. He can almost feel Connor rolling his eyes. The room is almost quiet, and they're both perfectly content with staring ahead at the white wall in front of them, not needing to make eye contact to convey their emotions.

"Well, it obviously wasn't yer fault, Murph, so ye don't need ta apologise."

"If it wasn't my fault, then it wasn't yer fault."

"I wish it had been me though."

Murphy tenses up, and feels a surge of what feels like anger coarse through him. He struggles into a more upright position, and reaches out a hand to grab Connor's chin to force him to look at him. There are tears in Connor's eyes, and then Murphy realises that there are tears in his too.

"I don't. I don't wish it was ye. I would do it all over again, exactly the same, if it meant that ye weren't broken like me."

"Don't say that. Yer not broken."

"I'm a little broken, Connor. Jus' fer now. An' ye are a bit too. But—I couldn't jus' stand an' watch ye get knocked down."

"Ye were unconscious for ages. In th' ambulance here. Ye were too still."

"I'm sorry."

"I said that yer not allowed ta be sorry, ye eegit."

"Sorry."

He grins at Connor, feeling the cuts on his face stretch and protest, but loving the familiar exasperated look on his brother's face. Murphy settles back against Connor's shoulder, feeling exhaustion hit him again, despite the fact that he'd only just woken up.

But it was okay.

.

Connor can feel the exact moment when Murphy falls asleep again, only moments after their conversation had lapsed into comfortable silence. He just smiles, his brother's head a welcome weight against his shoulder, and reaches out gently to put his hand on Murphy's forehead.

It's cooler than it had been an hour ago, and that makes Connor smile.

His eyes start to feel heavy, even though it's only four in the afternoon, and Connor tells himself that he can't move off the bed because Murphy is asleep. So it only makes sense that he should close his eyes for a few minutes.

Only a few though, because Murphy might wake up and need him, and he needs to be on top of his game. So he's only going to close his eyes for ten minutes, and then he'll do something useful.

Connor ends up breathing softly alongside his brother, their heads pressed together.

And in those moments, when it's only them, sleeping beside each other like they always did, everything is more than okay.

.

That evening they read comics together.

Murphy is overjoyed to see the worn comics, and Connor is overjoyed to see his brother so happy. It's a small piece of normality, and they'll take as much as they can get. Murphy is declared in the clear from the fever, and Connor is bullied into taking more painkillers.

They swear at each other in French, Italian, Latin, and Gaeilge. Connor buys a few bags of Tayto's and a box of chocolates at the shop, and Murphy eats all the nice chocolates (and licks the rest). Connor eats them anyway, and Murphy laughs.

They call Ma together, and she sounds sad. Murphy asks her if she can hear him smiling, and Connor tells her that he's being a great older brother.

Connor gets a smack in the head, and Murphy informs Ma that he's being a better older brother. They both decide that Boston is their favourite city, from the book, and Murphy makes Connor translate a whole page into German, just to see if he can.

They fall asleep early, and they both try to pretend that the next day isn't going to be so hard.

.

_I would love to hear some feedback from you guys on this chapter. I'll have the next one up as soon as I can! In the meantime, I hope you all have a great week ahead :)_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	12. Chapter 12

The next day is better.

Murphy stays awake for longer, and Connor smiles genuinely for longer.

He leans back in his chair, stretching out his back muscles, and lets out a soft groan as his muscles protest against the plastic hospital chairs. His brother smirks at him from the bed, and uses the remote control to lift the head of the bed up higher, working his way up into a full sitting position, rather than a reclined one.

Connor glares half-heartedly at him, and yawns as he says, "Don't be fuckin' around, Murph. Yer gonna break th' stupid thing."

His twin sticks his tongue out at him, and messes around with the controls for a few more minutes, but Connor's mind is almost fixated on the bad quality of the chair. He decides that he simply can't take another moment of sitting in that torture chair, and stands abruptly, only swaying slightly.

Murphy flinches violently, and his eyes dart fearfully to Connor's, unsure if his brother was going to leave him without any warning, "What?"

"Nothin', nothin'. I'm jus' getting' outta tha' chair, calm down. Nil me ag deanamh aon rud. _I'm not doing anything."_ Connor smiles at Murphy, and reaches down to ruffle his hair, because he knows that Murphy hates that, "Tha' thing is unbearable after a while, absolutely unbearable."

"There's no other chairs in tha' hospital?" Murphy asks, slapping Connor's hand away with a scowl, and absentmindedly flattening his hair back down.

He scratches at his cast carefully, brow furrowed in concentration, "Aye… There might be, yeah. At the nurse's station, down th' hall, they have these big comfy looking chairs, with the wheels that swirl around and shit… aye. B'fheidir ro-cluthar, ach nil fhios agam. _Maybe_ _too comfy, but I don't know_. Tis a shame."

"Ye really want one of those chairs, don't ye?" Murphy lets out a laugh, while Connor simply nods miserably. "Well then we're jus' gonna havta get ye one, aren't we? Can't be havin' two MacManus lads wastin' away in the same hospital, sure now."

Connor looks carefully at Murphy, recognising the playful glint in his eyes, "Ah here now, what're thinkin' of?"

.

Ten minutes later, Connor slips out of the room, biting his lip carefully as he steps into the empty stairwell a few metres down from Murphy's room, and closer to the nurse's station.

The plan was a stupid one, but it was pure Murphy… and who was Connor to deny his brother a bit of help. And besides, he _really_ fucking wanted that chair. They really couldn't be having any more of that other plastic chair malarkey anymore.

He blesses himself with a smile on his face, as he hears Murphy calling out for help, a tone of desperation in his voice. Murphy sounds like he's about to burst into tears, and Connor's heart aches at the meagre sound of his tone, despite the fact that he knows perfectly well what's going on.

Almost a dozen bodies rush past the stairwell, on their way to Murphy's room, and Connor dashes in the opposite direction the second they're clear.

Connor only has seconds to grab a lonely looking blue swivel chair, and wheel it as fast as he can back to the stairwell. His brother has stopped yelling, and the window of opportunity is closing as the window of exposure gapes open around him.

He literally only manages to wrestle the chair through the narrow doors of the stairwell, and shut them behind him, when Connor hears the nurses on their way back to the desks. They don't sound angry, in fact two of them are giggling, so he guesses that his brother hadn't been too badly received.

.

Murphy is still laughing when Connor sticks his head into the room.

He waves his brother back into the room, and can't help himself from bursting out into another fit of laughter when he sees Connor dragging the wheelie chair behind him quickly. His brother simply beams at him, though Murphy can still see the traces of sadness and helplessness that haven't left Connor's eyes in days.

"Ah, I was _brilliant_! T'was a real success!" He chokes out once he can find some words, and Connor nods back enthusiastically, already settling into his new chair with a sigh.

Murphy had started yelling out twenty seconds after his brother had left the room, letting some of his actual pain and fear melt into the performance, "Help! Help, I—oh God, I can't—Help!" Almost immediately, a dozen people had flooded into his room, their hand flying out to do goodness knows what to him, before Murphy had thrown up his hands, "The remote's broken!" He had wailed, and gestured with an IV bound hand towards the television, "It's broken, and I can't—_Fair City_ is on, and it won't turn on!"

After a few more moments of hesitation and touching and prodding, the staff had been assured that Murphy was not in fact, about to die. He had apologized with a smile in his voice as they shook their heads at him, and thanked a nurse meekly as she manually switched on the television for him. The nurses had known that something was up, the laughter in his voice and the lack of Connor a clear clue, but eventually they had left him alone, with only his sniggers to keep him company.

"Ye did a fine job," Connor praises, winking at him.

And even though the situation is so messed up, with Murphy anchored to a bed by what feels like dozens of tubes and wires, and Connor having just become a chair thief, it feels familiar and right, and there's nothing more that Murphy wants in that moment when Connor smiles at him.

But then the moment ends, and Murphy realises that he actually wants a lot more things.

He wants to be better, and for his legs not to be crippled, and he wants to be home. He wants Connor to not look so tired and worried, and to not have to be thinking about stealing chairs, and for Connor to be at home with him. He wants this just to be over already.

.

That night, they play card games after Connor had found a discarded pack in the cafeteria. There's twelve cards missing from the deck, but they make it work.

"Ye enjoyin' yer chair?"

Connor nods enthusiastically, and slaps a card down on top of the pile, "_Snap_! I win!"

His brother gasps indignantly, and snatches the cards up, "Ye do not, ye cheat!"

For a few minutes, the room dissolves into petty bickering, but then they calm again, and it's a different game of _Go Fish_. Murphy is yawning and rubbing at his eyes, but Connor doesn't have the heart to tell him to go to sleep just yet.

They'd had another huge laugh earlier when one of the nurses walked in and just froze, staring at the blue swivel chair. Connor had simply smiled weakly at her, while Murphy had suddenly devoted all his attention to the book in his hands. She'd just stared for a few more seconds, and the burst out into a fit of giggles, having to step into the corridor and drag another nurse in to have a look.

The brothers had this floor twisted around their little fingers.

"So… Ma's coming up tomorrow."

.

_I know guys, short chapter and long wait. Apologies, life is really having a go at me these days. But here's a light-hearted chapter to make up for it :)_

_Thank you guys so much for all your comments for the last chapter, and for all the alerts and favourites. It means so much to me. I'll try and have the next chapter up by the end of the week, fingers crossed. I'd love to hear what you thought of this!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	13. Chapter 13

_Hey guys—thanks for all your feedback from the last chapter. It's really appreciated._

.

Several things happen that day.

Murphy is moved to a different floor, now that he doesn't look like he's about to croak at any second. Connor watches carefully, as the porters manoeuvre the bed out of the intensive care room, his arms laden down with all their seemingly pathetic belongings balanced in between his good arm and his casted one, and can't help the growl that comes out of him when Murphy's bed knocks against the wall.

His brother simply winces, and turns to smile at Connor, to reassure him that he's still okay. One of the porters apologises, and the other simply stares into Connor's glare with almost no reaction. Connor lets out a curse under his breath, scuffing his sneaker against the lino floor in frustration.

He squeezes into the lift with them, presses against the rails of Murphy's bed with a scowl, and dares one of the porters to tell him to just meet them upstairs.

Murphy reaches out a hand, still attached to IVs, and grips onto Connor's tatty shirt with a small smile. He's still pretty whacked on pain medication, and all the other things that they were pumping into him, but he's definitely starting to act more like Murph, and that's all that Connor has wanted.

"Keep yer feckin' hair on, will ya?" His brother jokes, though his hold on Connor is tight, "Ma's comin' today, an' I don't want ta have ta tell her that ye went an' gave yerself a heart attack all cause we moved floors on ye, yeah?"

Connor makes a face at Murphy, who makes one straight back, and then the elevator has come to the right floor, and the procession continues. His brother is forced to let go of his shirt as the bed is pushed forward, and there's nothing that Connor can do about it.

He simply tries to get a better grip on their belongings, the belongings being the worn comics and the book and the extra shirt that he has with him and Murphy's shoes, and marches after his brother.

There's more nurses in Murphy's new room, and they swarm towards him as the twins enter. Connor just muscles his way past them, dumping their things onto the bed, and catches Murphy's eye, "I'll be right back. Ye know what I have ta do."

Murphy grins at him, and makes a wild gesture with his arm just before a nurse can anchor it back to the bed by attaching a tube to the IV.

He takes the stairs back up to the ICU, loving the feeling of his feet pounding against the cold concrete, and the sounds that his running makes in the abandoned stairwell. Connor strides back into Murphy's old room, winking at one of the nurses, and grabs hold of the swivel chair that he had fought so hard to steal away. There's no way that he's leaving it behind.

The chair squeaks slightly as he pushes it roughly out the door, and he keeps his eyes glued on the elevator doors as he pushes the button. Connor's grabbing tightly to the worn material that covers the chair, already uncomfortable for having left Murphy down in his new room. His fingers on his good hand clench painfully around the back of the chair, his casted hand simply digging into the chair, as he waits impatiently for the lift door to open.

When Connor enters Murphy's room a few minutes later, dragging the chair behind him, he ignores the stunned and confused looks from the nursing staff.

He just drags the chair up to the bed, letting himself sit stiffly into it, and looks at his brother. Murphy rolls his eyes, and says slowly, "I'm fine, Connor. Everything's grand, ye got yer chair, an' Ma's comin' today. We're okay."

Connor glares at the nurses one more time, and then leans his head back against the headrest, letting himself relax.

"Yeah, we're okay, Murphy."

.

After a few hours of being on the new floor, Connor gets called to the nurses' desk to take a phone call.

"Already popular, will ye look at tha'!" Murphy yells after him, and scratches his arm absentmindedly as he looks around the cramped room. He's in the critical care unit now, someone told him, instead of the intensive care unit.

Not that it seems to have made much of a difference.

He's still hooked up to heart monitors and plugged into IVs, and he's still in a hospital bed. The only change that Murphy has been able to work out is that at least his brother seems a little calmer. That's a good thing, in Murphy's opinion, because God knows that Connor had been about to burst in the other room.

Out of curiosity, Murphy presses the palms of his hands against the bed, and tries to lift his hips off the bed. The only thing that he achieves is a burst of pain, and getting a strangled gasp torn out of his throat. He lets out a moan of frustration, and pulls the blanket away from his legs in a quick movement.

His legs look broken and crippled, and it makes him want to scream in frustration.

Within seconds, his curiosity has changed into something darker, some form of self-hatred. His panic levels are rocketing up, Murphy can feel them, but Connor's not there to stop him. He's breathing heavily, probably too heavily, and he needs to get out.

He bows his head, closing his eyes, and begins to pray. It's silent at first, but then a wave of anger and just pure _emotion_ hits him, and Murphy throws his head back to slam it against the pillow. He tries to lift the bottom half of his body again, pressing against his palms against the bed with all his strength to try and lift himself, but again, nothing happens.

Murphy exhales in a rush of anger, and lashes out with his fist to punch the mattress, refusing to let tears fall from his eyes. This needs to be _over_.

"Jesus Christ, the fuck's wrong, Murph?" Connor appears, looking pale and worried in the doorway, "What's goin' on?"

"I _hate_ this, Connor. I hate this, an' I want ta go _home_."

His brother just makes his face at him, and it says everything and nothing both at the same time. "I know. We're workin' on it, Murph. Look at what a big step today has been. Yer on a new ward, yer gettin' better. Ye said it yerself a few hours ago, ye said that ye were okay. C'mon, Murph."

"I know what I said, but, jus'—Connor, I'm a sittin' duck. I can't walk ta th' bathroom ta take a piss, I can't even look out th' fuckin' window cause it's too far away! I don't know how much longer I can jus' sit in this bed, and take this!"

"I know! Do ye think that I don't know that!" Connor threw his hands up in frustration, "I know tha' ye can't, and its tearing me apart too, Murph!"

Connor runs a hand through his hair, and suddenly presses the call button beside the bed.

.

An hour later, his brother is being helped out of the bed, and into a wheelchair. Connor watches carefully, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as the nurses help Murphy sit up by himself.

He sways and pales a bit, but give Connor a huge grin nonetheless, Murphy's dark hair tousled and scruffy looking. "Look at me, Conn, 'm practically feckin' walking!"

"Take it easy, Murph," He warns, but manages to smile back, "None 'a yer sarcasm fer th' moment, ye don't need ta be annoyin' these poor nurses. They haven't had sixteen years ta learn how to tune yer voice out, now have they?"

Murphy laughs back at him, and bites his lip as things get serious.

Connor can't see through the mass of people surrounding his brother, so he just stares at the ground instead, listening to Murphy's gasps of pain. "Steady, steady…" A nurse mutters, and Connor just clenches his fist with worry.

They move back then, after a few minutes, and Connor is greeted by the sight of Murphy, wrapped up in blankets and still attached to half the IVs and the heart monitor. "Look at me, Conn," He whispers, a smile breaking though his composed expression.

"Look at ye alright…"

Both of them are grinning at each other then, because Connor's allowed to step forward and take the handles of the wheelchair. "You two have fifteen minutes before you need to get back here, do you understand?" The doctor says firmly, and they both nod, Murphy almost trembling with excitement.

Murphy's legs are propped up on the extended footrests, seeing as one of his legs can't bend, and the other one needs to be kept elevated. He looks like an absolute mess, with the IV stands attached to the wheelchair, and the tiny heart monitor machine hooked onto the back of the wheelchair, but it's the happiest that Connor has seen his brother in days.

"Thank ye, doc," He hears himself say, and then he and Murphy leave the room.

They really don't do much, just wander through the corridors, as Murphy calls out which direction to go, but Connor can't seem to stop smiling.

After ten minutes, they end up in an empty waiting room, just staring out the window at the traffic a few stories below. "I have somethin' ta tell ye, Murph." His brother just nods, letting his breath out in a sigh to cover a small portion of the window with condensation, before starting to doodle on it, "Ma says that she can't make it till tomorrow. She has ta cover Maureen's shift at work, an' she really wants ta be here today, but… ye know how it is."

"I do, yeah. It's grand."

"She'll be here tomorrow," Connor tries to make up for the bad news, but it's clear that Murphy is already closing himself off. "I'm sorry."

Murphy lifts his head slightly, to give Connor a pitying look, "It's not yer fault."

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, looking out at the rain, before Murphy grabs the wheels of the chair weakly, and smiles again, "Ye want ta go back?" Connor asks, because he can see his brother tiring already, even if it's only been a few minutes.

He nods, and then they make their way back to the room, where the whole ordeal of getting Murphy back into bed begins.

Connor spins in his swivel chair while his brother drifts quickly off to sleep, staring at the ceiling as his feet push against the floor to keep him spinning. He's so _tired_ again, and it'll be good to have Ma with them tomorrow. She would be able to fix them again.

And then, maybe soon Murphy would start to get properly better.

.

Ma comes back into the hospital like a whirlwind the next day, and just makes everything okay.

Murphy is overjoyed to see her again, and she brings with her what looks like half the contents of their room back at home with her, to keep them both amused. Murphy lets her fuss over him, and cry for a bit, and he reads all the _get well soon_ cards that their friends and family has sent him.

Connor sleeps. He greets Ma when she arrives early, and ends up crawling back into the cot bed that he's been sleeping on, and dozes off again. He ends up sleeping for hours, smiling in his sleep at the sound of Murphy's laugh.

Ma comes, and she makes everything better.

In the afternoon, she produces ham sambos, and Connor is woken by the smell of black coffee. He gulps it down, and devours the sandwiches, while Murphy sips on water, and eats some wafers. Then Connor falls back asleep, relieved that the pressure that he's been under has been lifted, and Murphy throws pieces of balled up tissue at him from the bed.

Ma takes over the swivel chair for the entire day, and Connor doesn't even mind. He wakes up again in the late afternoon, and wonders why his hair is full of little tissue balls. Murphy cackles with laughter, and Connor throws the empty plastic coffee cup at him.

When Ma leaves in the evening, neither of them cry.

They just hug her tightly, and listen to her promises to be back as soon as she can. When she leaves, they don't say anything, just turn on the TV, and Murphy holds the pillow that Ma had brought from home. Connor reads the _get well soon_ cards that are all addressed to Murphy, and tells himself that it's stupid to wonder why no one wrote him a card.

.

_I hope you all liked this chapter. I'd love to hear what you thought of it, while I get started on the next one._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	14. Chapter 14

A week passes, and they just keep getting better.

Murphy is allowed out for half an hour each day, in the wheelchair, and he just comes _alive_ outside of the hospital room. Connor smiles when his brother begins to insist on pushing himself, though he steps in when it becomes clear that Murphy is working himself too hard.

Still, they sit in the cafeteria for a while, and wander the corridors, and Murphy starts to just chat again.

Connor's gotten used to the weight of the cast on his wrist, and he's always been familiar with the weight of looking after his brother. The pressure starts to fade, now that the bruises are healing and the scrapes are becoming less red. As the abrasions got better, so did Murphy.

The sight of a bruised, but smiling Murphy is seen more and more often, now that he's allowed to wear his own worn t-shirts and even a pair of too big sweatpants—cut above the knees to allow the doctors to examine his legs each day. Their things are spread out across the small room, after the welcome disappearance of some of the bigger machines. Murphy still has two IVs inserted at all times, but he's not hooked up to half as much stuff, and the looks of pity are slowly starting to fade from the nurses' eyes.

"I'm _bored_," His brother moans, and Connor looks up to see Murphy tossing a book halfway across the room. "There's nothing to do here, and I want to go home."

"I know, Murph."

This has become a common theme with Murphy, him complaining about how he wants to go home. Connor's not sure when he's going to be released, soon he figures, but now he's not certain how good of an idea that is. It's obvious that Murphy will be confined to a wheelchair for at least a few weeks, with two broken legs, but their house is anything but wheelchair accessible. It's cramped and filled with awkward corners and too much stuff, and in the middle of nowhere.

Connor's not sure how they're going to make it work for everything, when he watched Murphy struggle to manoeuvre the wheelchair in the spacious hospital corridors. And when they go home, Connor will probably be made to go to school for at least some of the time, and Ma works longs hours, and he's just not sure how they're going to cope.

Luckily, a knock at the door saves both brothers from the bickering that was sure to ensue, and they glance up to see a nurse and two policemen at the door.

They both frown immediately, and Connor stands up quickly, moving himself slightly so he's positioned in front of Murphy, who reaches out a hand and grabs his brother's t-shirt gently, "Can I help ye two?" Connor asks carefully, not moving as the two men enter the room uninvited.

"Connor, is it?" One of them asks, and reaches out to shake his hand. "My name is Officer Noonan, and this is Officer O'Loughlin. We're here to talk about the accident… if you boys are ready?"

He shakes the offered hand slowly, and backs up a step until his back hits the edge of the bed. Murphy looks around him warily, and makes some kind of sound as the Gardaí greet him in a similar manner. Connor steals a glance at his brother, and sees Murphy's carefully constructed expression, the one he puts on when strangers are in the room.

"What do you want to know?" His brother's voice is steady, and controlled.

The men seem to wait for a moment, for Connor to move to the side slightly so that they can see Murphy. After a few seconds, Murphy tugs at the hem of Connor's shirt, as a means of telling him to sit, and he drops heavily into the chair closest to the bed, motioning for the policemen to do the same.

When they're all seated, the questions begin, "Can you both just tell us what happened that day, in your own words?"

"We were walking home from school. I don't—I don't remember much. But just that there was a car, and that Connor was gonna get _hit_, and then I think I pushed him out of the way," Murphy turns to look at his brother, frowning in concentration, and looks confused.

Connor nods with a grimace, "Yeah, Murph. That's what happened. Ye were eating blackberries, by Callaghan's field, an' we were fighting, I think. Then we came ta the corner, an' this car came out of nowhere, an' ye pushed me outta the way, an'… an' then I don't know?"

"Would you be able to identify the car, do you think?"

Just as he was nodding, Murphy stiffened, and leaned forward, "Do ye mean that ye haven't caught the guy?"

"We… We haven't had anyone come forward, as of yet. It would appear as though the driver drove off after hitting you two, almost immediately. You were found a few minutes later, by an American tourist and her husband. They called an ambulance, and you were brought to hospital from there."

There was silence for a few minutes after that revelation, and Connor looked over worriedly to his brother. Murphy is breathing heavily, hands clenched in the blankets, and his head is bowed. He shakes off Connor's hand, as he tries to comfort his brother, and just closes his eyes.

When Murphy finally manages to look up, with tears threatening to spill over, he looks furious.

"Whoever that was in that car, they _left_ me. They left me and my brother, on the side of the road, to _die_. They broke me, crippled me, and trapped me in here!" Murphy throws his hands up to gesture at the room, and slams his fist down on the mattress, "What kind of person does that? What—how could you just leave two kids on the side of the road? They— I can't walk, I can't run, I can't do fuckin' _anythin'_ because of that—How could they just leave us there!"

Connor doesn't think that he's ever seen Murphy as wound up or upset as he is now. His brother's chest is heaving, and tears are streaming down his face, but still he flinches away from Connor's touch. Murphy's bruised face is shining with resentment and pain, as he shoves Connor away for the third time.

"We'll, ah, leave now. Sorry to have upset you both." The two Gardaí stand quickly, and apologise profusely, before hurrying out the door.

Murphy just turns away from him, as far away as he can get without moving his legs, and pulls the blanket over his head, "Go away, Connor. Leave me _alone_."

He runs out of the room, feeling the burning pain in his ribs, and the pounding of his heart. A tear escapes down his cheek, and Connor scrubs it away before he catches up with the two policemen, "Wait! Wait, I think I can help identify the car. I saw it, for a few seconds at least."

They end up in the cafeteria. One of the men buys him a hot chocolate, and Connor wraps his shaking hands around it to disguise his lack of control. "Whenever you're ready, lad. We… we assumed that someone had told your brother about what had happened. Otherwise I would have had more tact," The first man offers, with a sad smile.

"It's okay. Murph is a bit… It's been tough on him." He takes a sip of the beverage, and almost enjoys the burning sensation that goes down his throat as he swallows, "It was an expensive car, a silver one. I remember that it was shiny—I could see my reflection in it. The driver… I think it was a man, with blonde hair, maybe? I don't—I only caught a glimpse. Ye don't see a lot of those cars around though, not where we're from anyway."

Connor shrugs, suddenly self-conscious, and rubs at his cast. "That's good, Connor, that's very good." They're taking notes, in a small black notepad, and he wonders what they're writing down.

"He might have been speeding… I mean, he came around that corner so fast. We didn't stand a chance. He jus'…"

The two policemen ask him a few more meaningless questions, ones that he's not able to answer, before thanking him for his time. Connor is handed a tiny card, with their numbers on it, and their first names scrawled beside it as well, "Call us if you remember anything else, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Thanks, uh, Paddy and Michael."

.

Murphy is asleep by the time Connor returns to the room.

He's only been gone for twenty minutes at the most, but it seemed as though Murphy's emotions had overwhelmed him. There are tearstains on his brother's cheeks, and his fists are clenched, and hair messy, as though he had ran his hands through it.

Connor sets the bed into a more reclined position quietly, using the controls, and settles down in the swivel chair with a photo album that Ma had brought. From the looks of the stuff, she had grabbed a box and tried to fit as many things inside as possible from their room.

The pictures inside are grainy and faded, but he traces their smiling faces with a finger, and wishes that he could rewind time to three weeks ago. When he looks up at Murphy, whose sleeping face looks pained and anguished, Connor is filled with a sense of failure.

He's failed his brother.

.

He wakes up to see Connor looking out the window, a devastated look on his face.

"I'm sorry," Murphy says, and scratches at one of the IV sites, "I didn't mean ta get so… angry at ye earlier. I'm not mad at you, jus'—that person left us bleedin' in the middle of the road, and I… I didn't know how to deal with it."

Connor doesn't say anything, just pulls Murphy into a gentle hug. He smiles softly then, and pushes the call button carefully, "Ye want ta go fer another walk?"

Murphy snorts with the irony of the question, but allows Connor and a nurse to manoeuvre him into the wheelchair awkwardly. It hurts, when they have to lift his limp legs off the bed and slide them over onto the extended footrests, but he doesn't even mind anymore. Anything is better than being confined to the bed.

Instead of taking their usual route, to the cafeteria, Connor takes the handles and pushes him a different way.

He doesn't comment, just watches the people that pass them by, and wonder what they must be thinking of him. They're all strangers in this part of the hospital, just normal people that Murphy will never see again, and that'll be gone from his life in seconds. He decides that he likes the anonymity of it all, and even winks at a girl their own age, when he gathers up the courage. She giggles, and hurries past them, and Connor laughs at him.

It isn't until the cool air hits his face that Murphy realises where they are.

Connor wheels him out the front door of the hospital, tossing his jumper down at him as Murphy shivers. "You're only allowed out fer five minutes, so you'd better enjoy it," He warns, as Murphy lets out a whoop of excitement, and pulls the jumper on over all the layers of clothing that he already had on.

He grips the wheels, and rolls himself forward down the path, breathing in as much of the evening air as he can. Murphy keeps pushing himself until he reaches a section of the path that manages to overlook a main road. Looking at the mass of cars moving past them at a distance, and all the people just being _normal_, he lets out a sigh.

"Ye okay?" Connor comes up behind him, and kneels down so it's as if he's sitting beside Murphy.

"Aye, I am. Jus' thinkin' that's all... Ye know what, Connor?" His brother looks at him with a curious expression, releasing his breath in a cloud of warm air. Murphy pauses for a moment to do the same, and then says quietly, "Yer pretty great. Fer a younger brother, that is."

.

_Quick update! Thanks so much for the reviews from the last chapter – you guys are the best, and I hope you enjoyed this one. I'd love to hear any thoughts on this chapter, if you have a chance._

_Review..?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	15. Chapter 15

Another week passes, and it feels like they've been cooped up in the hospital forever.

Murphy moans and sometimes tosses books across the room out of boredom, and all Connor can do is roll his eyes and clean up after his brother. Sometimes Ma calls, and they both huddle up to the phone, but most of the time it's just them. Not that Connor minds, but he suspects that Murphy would love to see a different face, just for a change in routine.

The nurses taught Murphy how to transfer himself in and out of the wheelchair, and even though it's painstakingly long, his brother can't stop doing it. Connor has to resort to parking the chair on the opposite end of the room, where Murphy can't reach it, to stop his brother from working himself so hard.

Connor sleeps more at night, now that Murphy is able to, but there's always the occasional nightmare, from either of them.

It starts with gasps of breath and tears, Murphy always sits there with tears streaming, but it always ends with silence. They curl into each other on those nights, in the hospital bed that's always lit by dim flashes of machines. Connor will stay awake for hours, on bad nights, and just feel his brother shaking against him.

There's nothing that he can do, really. Murphy dreams of speeding cars, and _impacts_. Connor dreams of screaming out his brother's name, and hearing no answer. Murphy dreams of never walking again, and Connor dreams of his brother fading from his side.

So they just huddle up to each other, and let the other reassure.

It's routine, and it's comfortable, and some nights they sleep the whole way through. Other nights, they don't sleep at all, but it's not like they have a busy schedule in the day. Murphy has gotten out of the habit of dozing through most days though, since his medication has been cut back.

Connor's ribs are almost healed. He no longer gets the sharp shooting pains in his chest when he sits up too fast, and Murphy doesn't have to nag at him to take any pain medication. His brother does, however, have to groan and moan at him to get the doctor to look him over, Murphy nudging Connor with his wheelchair all the way to the exam room.

If the doctor is surprised to see a sulking Connor and a battered looking Murphy in a wheelchair barge into the room for a simple outpatient appointment, he doesn't show it.

Murphy laughs and makes crude jokes in German when Connor is forced to answer stupid questions and take countless deep breaths, and he retorts sharply in French. By the time the exam is done, and Connor is given a clear bill of health so far as his ribs are concerned, the doctor is looking well and truly overwhelmed.

They saunter out with smirks and smiles, and make their way back to the room slowly. Murphy wants to make a stop in the cafeteria though, so they do, and Connor watches silently as his brother slurps down a tea and stuffs his face with biscuits.

"Ye eatin' enough there?"

His brother makes a face, and stuffs another chocolate digestive biscuit into his mouth for emphasis, "Shut up ye, I get ta eat whatever th' fuck I want—the rest of th' food is horrible!" Connor nods his agreement, and takes a sip of his coffee.

"I'm not disagreein' with ye on tha' one."

They fall into silence then, which is punctuated by the sounds of Murphy shovelling the food into his mouth, and Connor tapping a tune with his fingers on his cast.

.

Ma calls that evening, but only Connor talks to her, as Murphy is taking a shower. The process is a long and arduous one, that involves huge plastic bags to be wrapped around both his legs, and a transfer into a shower chair, and a lot of other crap that Connor hasn't been told about.

He talks to her quietly, twisting the cord around in his fingers, and wonders when they'll get to go home. Then Connor wonders when things will truly be back to normal, and his mood sobers slightly, at the realisation that it will take a _long_ time.

Murphy returns to the room after an hour or so, hair damp and face smiling. Connor makes a face at him, leaning back in the swivel chair, and throws a piece of popcorn at his brother.

"So, Ma says hi," He speaks carefully, eyes looking down at the book once Murphy is back into bed. His brother makes a grunt of acknowledgement, and Connor decides to continue, "She also was sayin' how some of th' lads were thinkin' of comin' up ta see us, on the weekend. What do ye think of tha'?"

His brother doesn't reply for a few long seconds, just stares down at his skinny legs, and Connor knows exactly how this is going to go.

"No."

"Why not?"

Murphy scowls, "Ye know why not, Conn. Cause I'm fuckin' weak an' broken an' I don't want anyone we know ta be seein' me like this. Have some cop on, would ye?"

"No, _ye_ have some cop on. C'mon, Murph, ye can't hide away from everyone. Yer gonna go home eventually, an' I can't exactly lock the doors an' pretend yer not home. It… It might be nice ta see some of the lads, y'know, considerin' its been weeks."

Connor doesn't say it in as many words, but he hopes that by implying that he'd like to see their friends, that Murphy would give in. It would be good for his twin, to have some normality and proper social interaction that wasn't with nurses.

But Murphy just shakes his head, and scratches at a scab on his arm, effectively ending the conversation.

Frustration builds up in him, so sudden and unexpected that Connor can't stop it in time, "Damn it, Murph, I'm tryin' ta help ye! But ye jus' want ta shove everyone away an'—why can't ye jus' let me in? Yer so stubborn, an' determined ta do everything by yerself, but right now ye jus' _can't_!"

In that moment, all the past few weeks' worth of worry and anxiety came flooding out, and Connor found himself standing and yelling down at his brother. Murphy, who could give it out as good as he got it, was sitting as tall as he could, shouting back.

"Ye jus' have ta be right about everything, dontcha Connor! Why don't ye jus' go home now, if ye want ta see yer friends so fuckin' bad! Why don't ye jus' leave me!"

They're interrupted by a nurse barging in and breaking up the fight before it could progress any further, but she wasn't able to stop Murphy from throwing a water bottle across the room at him, and Connor flinging a book back at him.

Connor storms out then, after the nurse plants herself in between both of them, and makes sure to slam the door behind him. The second he leaves the room, he regrets it, but there's no way that he was going to give into his brother so quickly.

It had been a horribly tough few weeks for them both, and this was _normal_ for them, Connor tells himself. They just needed to let off some steam, have an hour or so of distance, and then things would be okay. It wasn't like they'd never fought before, hell at home Ma nearly killed them on a daily basis for bickering. _Space_, he repeated in his head, they just needed a bit of space. So he heads off to the cafeteria, a place that he'd already spent far too much time in to be honest, and doesn't look back.

.

Murphy curses loudly as he fisted his hands in the sheets, and lets out a groan of anger.

Stupid Connor, thinking that he couldn't do anything for himself. He would show him. Trying to steady his hands that are shaking with anger, Murphy pulls on a jumper quickly, and moves himself slowly to the edge of the bed.

The wheelchair is luckily just within reach, but he still has to stretch just a bit, and Murphy frowns in concentration as he transfers himself carefully to the chair. It's a delicate process, which involves him fiddling with the height of the bed until he can get it so it's not too hard to slide his hips over to the wheelchair. From there, he has to lift his legs across to the foot holds, one which is extended all the way out for his braced leg at zero degrees. His other leg is easier, as the cast is only from his knee to his toes, but it still takes longer than he wants.

A pull of pressure at his arm reminds him that he's forgotten to attach the IV bag to the IV stand on the wheelchair, something that Connor or a nurse usually does. Murphy simply scoffs, and rolls up his sleeve impatiently, sliding the needle out of his skin with a slight gasp.

He hangs around long enough to snag a beanie for his damp hair, and to grab a small blanket to spread across his extended leg. He's only allowed to wear baggy shorts, and his leg is still mottled and ugly with bruises, so Murphy covers it up briskly, and then wheels towards the door.

There's no immediate sign of nurses in the corridor, so he takes his chances and makes a dash to the elevator, which is thankfully empty too.

The whole process has taken around twenty minutes, and all Murphy can do is pray that Connor doesn't decide to make his way back up to the room via the lift. Neither of them can stand to be fighting for more than a half hour, he knows this after years of experience, but Murphy just needs to prove something to both himself and his brother.

So he quietly wheels himself out of the hospital entrance, and tries to pretend that he's not as freaked out as he actually is.

The street is busy, something that Murphy hasn't experienced in weeks, and definitely not in a wheelchair. But the people mostly divide in their big groups to let him wheel hastily through, and his arms are only starting to burn with exertion just a little.

Murphy spots a corner shop just a few streets away from the hospital, and sets his sights on that, attempting to make a direct path across to it. It's only when he manages to manoeuvre himself through the door, a hard task with one leg extended straight out, that Murphy realises just how much trouble he's going to get into for this little stunt.

_In for a penny, in for a pound._

There's no point in turning around just yet though, not when he's come so far, so Murphy shrugs slightly and wheels himself up to the counter. It's high up, the rows of sweets and chocolate separating him from the cashier and making him seem tiny from his sitting position.

"Uh, a packet of chewing gum, an' some coke thanks?" He says, almost nervously, but stares up defiantly as the cashier peers down at him.

By some kind of miracle, there's change in the pockets of the jumper, which belongs to Connor now that Murphy thinks about it. He stretches his hand up as far as it'll go, and only scowls a little bit as the man has to lean over the counter quite a bit to reach it.

He knows what he looks like, with fading road rash on the side of his face, and the way that his whole face seems to have gotten skinnier, as a result of all the trauma and extended hospital stay. But if the man notices that anything is amiss, which is clearly is—Murphy's quite sure that it looks like he's escaped the hospital, which he has—he doesn't say anything.

The man hands him the gum and soft drink, and Murphy mutters at him to keep the change, not even sure if he's given the guy enough to cover what he's bought. He hears no shout of protest as he starts to wheel away though, so he assumes that it was the correct amount, or that he does in fact look pathetic enough to warrant a discount.

A sense of freedom ripples through him then, as he tucks himself into a corner of the street where he can watch everyone milling around and not be trampled at the same time. Murphy drinks the coke quickly, feeling the sugar rush hit him, and grinning. Connor hadn't been letting him have any soft drinks, for the simple fact that they didn't have enough money and that for a few weeks the medication he had been on wouldn't have gone well with the drink.

Murphy drains the bottle, dunking it into a rubbish bin a foot away from him with a smile. He shivers slightly, as he unwrapped the chewing gum and popped a piece in his mouth, and is glad that he remembered to get a hat for his damp hair.

People give him strange looks, probably confused as to what a sick looking teenager in a wheelchair is doing eating gum on the side of the street, but Murphy is content.

This is all he wanted, the chance to feel independent, and to get away from everything for a while.

Once he's finished two sticks of gum, Murphy decides that he should probably get back, before his brother has a heart attack. So, already starting to brace himself for the inevitable blow up and chewing out that he's about to receive, Murphy forces his exhausted arms to grip the wheels and begins to push himself back down the street to the hospital.

.

Connor feels like he's about to pass out.

The tightness in his chest just keeps building, more and more. He's been shouting at the nurses and security staff and everyone else whose milling around for the past ten minutes, in between pacing around and trying not to hyperventilate.

"How could you just lose _him_? He's—he's!"

Eventually, he just pushes past all the people standing in his way, drawing in a struggling breath, and slams his hand onto the elevator button. He's going to find his brother, and goddamnit if no one else is able to, because Murph is his _brother_ and he's going to find him.

Just as the doors open, and Connor starts to storm into the lift, he sees Murphy just sitting in the wheelchair, looking cold and guilty. He freezes.

Before Connor can let out a shout, Murphy reaches forward, looking equally as surprised, and yanks him into the lift. The doors close and then suddenly it's just them in the elevator. Murphy is wearing a dark beanie, which hides his scruffy hair, and Connor's hoodie, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Sorry."

Within seconds, Connor is pulling Murphy close to him, pressing his face into his brother's shoulder, and trying to remember how to breathe again, "Yer an idiot, you stupid—_don't_ do that again, please—ye can't jus' leave an'— I'm sorry—don't leave—Murph—"

"I won't, I won't—It was stupid, don't be mad, Connor—I'm sorry."

They collapse into silence then, with Murphy quietly reassuring him. The brothers stayed in the elevator for a few more minutes, calming down, and apologising without words. When the lift arrives on their floor, Connor warns his brother to be ready—to face the music—and Murphy lets out a groan.

The door open, and suddenly they're faced with at least a dozen people staring at them with displeased expressions. Murphy leans over to him, and offers him a small packet of some kind.

"Gum?"

.

In the end, Murphy doesn't get given out to too much.

There are lectures and sighs of disappointment, and promises that it won't happen again, but this is a song that they've heard many times before. Murphy nods and tries to look ashamed of his actions, but at the end of the day, he only cares about Connor's opinion.

Connor chuckles quietly and looks disapproving in all the right places, but he doesn't mind now that Murphy is back. He knows his brother just needed space and a bit of rebellion, and he probably should have seen it coming sooner.

Murphy is practically conked out in the bed, exhausted by his little journey, and almost falling asleep as his arms are splayed at his sides lazily.

Just as the disgruntled staff are filing out of their room, seeming drained from the weeks of trying to contain two MacManus', the doctor pauses and looks back at them.

"I have a good feeling that we'll be seeing the back of you two boys soon enough."

.

_I hope this chapter is okay! This story has gotten some new readers recently, so a big 'hello!' to you guys, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy the rest of it :) I would love to hear your thoughts on this one, while I get started on the next chapter over the next few days…_

_Review..?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	16. Chapter 16

"How're ye feelin', Murph?"

His brother is trying to sound nonchalant, and cool, but Murphy still shots him a weak glare, "I think ye can fuckin' guess." The hustle and bustle of people outside in the corridor was making him antsy, and he'd been unnecessary short with Connor all morning.

Connor makes a face, "Aye, but it'll be fine. Yer comin' home! Ma said she has everythin' worked out, an' yer pretty mobile in tha' wheelchair, an' it'll be fine. C'mon, Murph, let me see a smile!"

As much as he wants to, Murphy just can't bring himself to. He fidgets in anticipation, twisting his fingers around in the soft material of his jumper. The hospital, as much as he hated it, was safe and familiar, and he didn't know how to be… _broken_ outside of it.

He doesn't say any of this to Connor though, just starts chewing his bottom lip, shrugging.

Before his brother can say anything, and Murphy can practically see the words getting ready to spill out of his mouth, a nurse bursts into the room, "Are we all ready to go now, boys?" She practically screams positivity and brightness, but Murphy can only manage a grimace back at her.

Connor steps back slightly, laden down with overflowing bags and random shoes, to let the nurse skip across the room to take the handles of the wheelchair.

Murphy winces slightly, hating to have anyone pushing him like some kind of invalid, but doesn't say anything. His eyes are fixated to the ground, determined not to look at his brother, for fear of losing it all together. There's a small cough, as Connor narrows his eyes and sounds like he very much wants to say something.

But all that comes out is, "Ma's waitin' with th' car."

The trip down to the car park is both surreal and terrifying. Murphy can feel every muscle in his body tensing, as his leg throbs with the beat of his heart. He's waited so long for this moment, but now everything feels like it's happening so fast.

Too fast.

Ma has tears brimming in her eyes, as she moves away from the car to pull him into an awkward embrace, and all Murphy can do is grin tightly at her. He transfers into the backseat of the car, silently watching as Connor folds up his wheelchair carefully, while he drags his bottom along the backseat to get his outstretched leg to fit in the car.

The car moves off quickly, and Murphy bites down harder on his lip while they bump over small potholes and swerve around the corners.

He picks at the plaster on his hand, that's covering the holes where the IVs went in, and touches his fingers gently to the side of his face, where the road rash has almost completely faded. Connor is watching him intensely in one of the mirrors from the front passenger seat, but neither brother said anything. And that was okay.

It takes two and a half hours to get home, with all the traffic and the back roads they have to take so Ma doesn't have to pay the toll.

Murphy can feel himself getting more and more exhausted, can feel his eyes beginning to slip shut. But he's determined to stare out the window for as long as possible, and he tells himself that it's because he's missed the familiar roads and sights.

But really he's bracing himself. Murphy watches every car that comes close to them, praying as hard as he can that it doesn't come even closer. His fingers tighten on the straps of his leg brace, as he stares into every vehicle that overtakes them on the small country roads, and he can feel his breath shallowing and his heart pounding against his ribs. This sort of fear takes him over, though he keeps it on the inside, always the inside, and there's no rationality to it.

All he remembers is _impact_.

There's a squeal of tires, and Connor, and then impact.

Then he woke up and everything had changed around him. So Murphy just stares out the window, and prays for something else, anything but impact and pain. Ma and Connor try to keep up a conversation for the first hour or so, but it trails off eventually, and Murphy doesn't even care.

All he can do is pray.

.

Connor frowns and fusses when they finally reach their house. Ma seems to have done the best thing that she can, to head into the house first, with all their possessions, and just leave them to it.

His brother's face is carefully guarded as he drags himself into the wheelchair, and doesn't waver when he grips the wheels and takes the first roll across rocky ground and muddy puddles. This surface is a far cry from the smooth lino floor of the hospital, and Connor wishes that he can do something to help as Murphy's face crumples just a bit.

But Connor knows that Murphy wouldn't appreciate his tongue-tied sympathies and offers of help.

When they awkwardly enter the house, it's clear that their Ma has tried her very best to make things better. And it's more than Connor had ever been expecting.

He and Murphy's room is upstairs, something that Murphy obviously can't manage anymore. So Ma had gotten rid of the couch, to accommodate their twin beds, sitting right smack in the corner of the room. He wonders how many of the lads had to help with that. Someone has also dragged down one of their dressers, to put clothes and stuff in, Connor guesses, and every bit of clutter that normally is found on the ground has been tidied away into a new set of storage boxes now in the corner.

There's a sheet hung up across the room, though it's pulled back at the moment, and it's clearly some kind of attempt to allow them their privacy. A banner is hung up over the cooker, which says in bright letters _Welcome Home, Connor and Murphy!_

Cards litter the kitchen table, as well a box of Cadbury's chocolates.

No one says anything as Murphy wheels himself carefully over to his bed, the one with the word _MURPH_ carved clumsily into the headboard, and stiffly transfers himself onto the bed. He takes a moment to arrange his legs on the bedspread, until both are outstretched in front of him, and then looks up through his scruffy dark hair.

"Thanks, Ma. And Connor."

There are hugs then, and some tears from Ma, who just seems so overjoyed to have them both back in the house. They all eat dinner on the beds that evening, Ma even splurging to get them chips from the local chipper, which they eat sitting on beds in the middle of the sitting room.

Murphy crashes early that evening, finally sinking down into the softness of his own pillow, and Connor shakes his head at him, tears in his eyes.

Then it's just him and Ma awake, sitting in almost darkness. She holds out her arms, and he falls into them, resting his head on her shoulder. Connor doesn't realise it for a few moments, but he's _shaking_, and it feels like he's not going to be able to stop.

He sits there, arms locked around his mother, trembling for a few minutes. When it feels like he can let go without the sensation of drowning, he draws in a shuddering breath, and pulls away.

"I'm so glad ta hav' ye home—my boys."

.

The next day is the most surreal thing that either of them have ever experienced.

Connor wakes up in his own bed, with Murphy stirring beside him, and sits up with a yawn in the middle of the sitting room. Light is shining in through the window, and he pads across the floor to pull back the sheet that separates them and the kitchen.

His brother pulls himself into a sitting position in his bed, and looks disoriented. "'s fuckin' weird," He finally says, and shoots a glance towards the wheelchair that's sitting just out of reach, looking resentful.

Without saying anything, Connor kicks at one of the wheels to scoot it closer to Murphy, and then wanders towards the kitchen cabinets, "I know. I haven't slept downstairs since tha' time last year when I got pissed an' couldn't make it up the stairs…. I think ye slept outside under th' plants that night, aye?"

Murphy lets out a laugh, and casts a nostalgic look out the window, "I did yeah. Tha' was when Ma went up ta Dublin fer th' weekend, an' we thought we could handle a night out. I don't think I've ever had tha' bad of a hangover."

"At least Ma never found out."

By the time he turns around, two pieces of thickly buttered soda bread in his hands, Murphy has wheeled himself up to the kitchen table, one leg sticking out awkwardly in the brace. "Amen ta that." Murphy says with a grin, and snatches a piece of bread off Connor.

They eat in silence, munching loudly and just staring around the room. "What happens now?"

Connor waits until he's swallowed before answering, "I dunno. Ye hav' ta go back fer a check-up in a few days, an' I'm getting' this cast off then, but until that… I guess we just chill here. Do ye hav' anythin' ye want ta do?"

"What if people come over?"

"If ye don't want tha', then I'll deal with it. But… Murph, yer friends are probably worried. It won't be tha' bad, I don't think. I mean, yer th' same person an' it's not like yer not gonna get better. But ye can decider fer yerself what yer want ta do."

Murphy shrugs, hands clenching and unclenching around the rims of the wheels.

Eventually, he wheels himself away, to take a piss. Connor watches him go though, sees the tension rippling through his brother's shoulders, and winces slightly. He gets himself another piece of bread, and tries to convince himself that things really are getting better.

.

Their house fills up in the afternoon.

Aunts and uncles, and cousins that all live counties away, seem to all flood into the room at the same time, and they're both caught unaware.

Murphy has to reach up for dozens of hugs, and has to constantly reassure everyone that he's on the mend. He says such a variation of '_I'm grand_,' that he almost starts to believe himself. Connor's on the other side of the room, doing much of the same, but they occasionally lock eyes.

The pure amount of love and worry in the house is palpable, and it makes Murphy feel like he doesn't deserve any of it. So he directs the conversations awkwardly away from himself, and finds himself chatting to his Ma's brother from Donegal about his crops.

When the drink has gone, and the last of the scones has been eaten, it gets dark. Relatives bustle out of the house, hugging and kissing, and promising to get back to visit soon.

It feels like they've been hit by a tornado, when the last of them has left. Connor slumps on one of the chairs, exhausted, and Ma heads towards the kitchen area to find out with relief that most of the washing up has already been done.

Murphy lets his eyes slip closed for a second, only one or two moments, and he's asleep before he knows it.

.

Connor frowns, looking at his brother.

He's fallen asleep in his wheelchair; an arm splayed out on the arm rests with the other covering his eyes, and appears terribly uncomfortable. But Connor doesn't want to wake him, because Murphy looks completely drained and like he needs to sleep for days.

Ma doesn't even notice as Connor takes the handles of the wheelchair, and pushes his brother carefully over to the beds. He pulls the sheet over to divide the room, as an afterthought.

Murphy doesn't wake when he lifts one of his arms up, to test if he's actually asleep. Connor hesitates, completely unsure of how to do anything, and then puts the brakes on the chair. His brother is gaunt and thin, after everything, and it's almost too easy for Connor to lift him gently under the arms, and lie his upper body on the bed.

Then he takes Murphy's casted leg, the one that's able to bend as the cast only starts from his knee down, and eases it onto the bed as well. Murphy's breath hitches in his throat slightly, but he doesn't wake, so Connor takes it as a sign to keep going. The braced leg is harder, and he is so careful with it, hands shaking as he tried to keep the leg as steady as possible.

When Connor has gotten all of Murphy onto the bed, he shoves the wheelchair away, to get closer to his brother. He slides the pillow under Murphy's head, and covers him with the duvet as slowly as possible.

The sleeping twin is a bit lopsided in the bed, and still in his clothes, but Connor decides that its good enough.

He calls out to say goodnight to Ma quickly, and then falls into bed himself, not bothering to change. He rolls on his side, to see Murphy's chest rising and falling steadily, and then drifts off.

.

She looks in on them after a few minutes, when she's about to head upstairs.

Murphy is outstretched on his back; head flopped on its side towards Connor. His brother is curled on his side, fast asleep, with one arm hanging out of bed. Her boys are safe, and healing, and _home_. It only takes a moment to straighten Murphy's duvet, and tuck Connor's arm back into the bed.

When she looks back at them once more, Connor has begun to snore, and Murphy mumbles something in his sleep, and it's just so normal that she thinks she's about to burst with love.

.

_Sorry for the wait guys, this chapter has been so hard to write. I hope I got it out okay though :)_

_My fingers are crossed that you all enjoyed this, and I'll try to get the next chapter up soon. I'd love to hear some of your comments if you have time! Thanks for all the support, from reviews to alerts and favourites, it means so much to me._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	17. Chapter 17

It's a strange feeling, to try and fit back into some sort of routine.

Ma works a lot still, but she always leaves out some sort of breakfast for them before she hurries out of the house in the mornings. Connor is getting better at letting Murphy sort himself out, though he still has to force himself not to fuss and worry.

Murphy is handling things well, or so Connor thinks warily. He finds things to do around the house, like sorting through newspapers to get the coupons or calling out cooking instructions from an ancient book to Connor. He's also gotten into the habit of telling his brother what he should be doing, or hinting bluntly that he should go out.

"Ye'd be in double history if ye were back in school," Murphy calls out loudly from the sofa, or "Ye could catch the Saturday GAA match now if ye ran," while he takes some painkillers. And every time Connor just rolls his eyes, and informs Murphy firmly that he'd do all those things when Murphy could do them as well.

Thankfully, most neighbours seem to have the good sense to leave them be, and just let them adjust, except for one or two who think that it's totally acceptable to barge into their house. The first few times this happens, Murphy flinches so hard at the sound of the door slamming open unexpectedly that he either drops whatever he's holding or grips a surface nearby tight. One time he had been in the middle of a transfer to the couch, and had almost fallen with the shock of the sharp sound of the door.

Connor had had to catch him, lunging out of his chair to land beside Murphy and had only just managed cushion his fall, but his brother had still jostled his legs and let out a whimper. At this, Connor had risen to his full height and _screamed_ at whoever it was to get out. The rest of that day had been spent with Murphy in bed and Connor staring out the window and glaring at their neighbours.

No one had come over without asking Ma beforehand after that.

They were due for a check-up at the hospital though, Connor to get his cast off and Murphy to see his doctors again. Ma hadn't been able to get the day off work, so Uncle Sibeal took the day off to drive them up. He turns the radio up and jokes with them about girls for most of the way to the hospital, but they all get quieter as they near it.

Their uncle seems to be at a loss for words when they park, and he drums his fingers on the steering wheel while Murphy drags himself into the wheelchair. The brothers exchange a glance, and then Connor leans down to peer in the window, "Ye can wait in th' car, if ye want. We know our way in so it'll be grand."

It takes longer to convince their uncle that they really will be okay, but eventually he agrees, tossing Connor a few pounds to get something to eat. Connor pushes Murphy through the hospital doors, but lets his brother pull away from him and start pushing himself after a few minutes.

"Can't wait ta get this fuckin' thing off," He says with a scowl, trying to scratch underneath the hard plaster.

Murphy just lets out a hoarse laugh, and takes a hand off the wheels for a second to gesture at his legs, "Tell me about it, Connor. They'd better have good news fer me, or I'm gonna burst someone I swear ta God." In answer, Connor just reaches down to ruffle his brother's hair, and dances around an elderly couple when Murphy give him the finger.

He has to work to keep a grin off his face, when they finally saw off his cast. Connor flexes his fingers carefully, while his brother laughs at how white his arm has gotten, but then a doctor comes looking for Murphy and the mood adjusts.

"I'm sorry, Connor, but you have to stay here."

The words instantly put a scowl on his face, but Murphy only shrugs, and pushes himself forwards with a twist of his hands, "I'll see ye in a bit, Conn." Connor reaches out with his bad hand, curling his weak fingers in his brother's jumper for a split second, and he drags up a smile for him.

"See ye then."

.

Murphy can feel the doctor's hands reaching for the wheelchair handles, can feel the man wanting to push him like some kind of invalid, and he wheels himself faster in an effort to avoid the man.

He's told that they're going to the x-ray department, on the second floor, but that's all. Murphy's not in the mood to make idle conversation either, so the trip is silent and all the while he has to force himself not to stare down at his limp legs.

When they get there, it takes two orderlies to scoot him efficiently over to the table, despite the fact that Murphy protests that he can do it himself, if they just adjust the table down lower. No one listens to him though, just smiling and lifting him like a kid, so he curses them all out in his head, and is glad that Connor isn't here to see him being treated like a child.

The x-rays don't take long, and he doesn't have to do anything, just lie still and resist the urge to make rude gestures.

Then he's taken to an exam room, and transferred over to the bed, not saying a word the entire time until he demands that someone gets Connor. Because he can see all sorts of equipment, and the lights are bright, and the people just keep giving him these huge supportive smiles.

He doesn't need any of them.

Connor doesn't come though, and Murphy is left waiting in the room alone, wondering if anyone even went to his brother in the first place. He clasps his hands tightly together, drapes his hoodie over his legs so he doesn't have to look at them, and looks around awkwardly.

Finally his doctor shows up, and sweeps the jumper off his legs with one motion. Murphy scowls, but doesn't say anything, chewing on his lip.

With him, the doctor brings a few nurses and some interns, all of whom stand around the bed and look on quietly. The man speaks in short, clipped sentences, and asks Murphy to flex his toes and inquires about how he's been doing. He looks at the x-rays, clicking his tongue for some reason that Murphy can't figure out.

When he takes out the saw, Murphy draws the line.

"Wait, what th' fuck?" He holds up a hand, eyes narrowed and wary. A nurse makes a sympathetic noise, and tries touching his hair, but he flinches away, "What's goin' on? Wha'—"

In a tone that suggests that he doesn't have time for this, the doctor says carefully, "We're going to take off your cast now, and then see what we can do about that brace – maybe unlock it slightly." He raises the saw again, and it shouldn't scare Murphy as much as it does, he knows that, "Now, just stay still."

Murphy can't breathe when the cast is being cut off, and his body is trembling; even though he knows that it's a stupid reaction. He had broken his arm before, when they were kids, and he hadn't been that afraid then. It's different now, and Connor's not even there to make fun of him or be supportive, and because the cast was constant and stable and maybe he doesn't want it gone just yet.

He lets out a whimper when someone lifts his ankle carefully so they can slide the underside of the cast out, and he realises that his hands are gripping the rails on the bed tightly. "Please don't—no , please, jus'…" Murphy ends up begging them not to touch him when hands gently examine his leg, his bottom lip trembling as he tries to keep himself from bursting into tears.

They don't let up though, and he can't even hear the whispered comforts that nurses give him, as he presses his head back into the elevated bed, and feels his chest heaving with unshed sobs.

"Okay, Murphy, okay, it's all over."

Murphy can feel himself breathing again when the doctor takes a few steps back, and he digs his fingers into his arms as he crosses his arms tightly. It takes another minute before he can formulate a sentence, and he forces himself to ask about something else other than Connor's whereabouts. "What's th' story then?"

He listens while they tell him about how 'well' his leg is doing, and how good the x-rays look, trying not to burst into tears and dissolve into a shaking bundle. The doctor moves slowly when he approaches him again, going to look at his other leg, and he really tries his hardest not to move away.

This time, they slide the brace off, and then Murphy does cry, as someone lifts his leg carefully. He lets out a muffled scream when his leg bends slightly, because it had been held in such a straight angle for weeks, and it feels _wrong_ when it bends the tiniest bit. He's a mess of tears on the bed, and there's nothing that he can do about it, except to hold his hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming out when they start to manipulate his leg carefully.

After what feels like years, someone puts the brace back on, and the sensation of security that floods back through him scares Murphy a bit.

The doctor orders most of the people out of the room then, and pulls up a chair beside the bed quietly to wait for him to calm down. All Murphy can think about his Connor, and how his brother is probably stalking through the halls looking for him by now.

"Sorry about tha'," He mutters, when the tears finally stop flowing, and he can look the doctor in the face again.

"You don't have to apologise, Murphy," comes the reply, and he scrunches up his face in an attempt to listen properly to the doctor as opposed to all the other times when he'd just drifted off, "Now, what we've done today is had a good look at both your legs, and decided to remove the lower leg cast. Someone is going to come in in a bit, and give you some exercises to be working on for that leg. The other thing we did has to do with the brace… we've unlocked the brace to 90 degrees, meaning that if you were able, you would be able to bend your leg 90 degrees. Obviously, it will take time for you to get that range of motion back, and it'll be hard, but it's something that you really have to work on…"

The rest is just stuff that Murphy knows Connor would remember if he were here, but can't be bothered to absorb properly himself. A woman comes in a few minutes after that, and coaches him through some simple but excruciatingly painful exercises, before handing him a sheet with them printed on it.

Murphy is left alone in the room after that, and he's not sure what to do.

He runs a shaking hand up and down both of his legs, feeling his body protest in pain, and then moves the bed down slowly with the electronic controls. His wheelchair is still within reach, so he attempts to transfer into it, but he has to be extra careful with his braced leg. It bends slightly again, no longer locked in place, and he lets out a cry, ducking his head even though the room is empty.

He manages though, and decides that he just wants to get the hell out of the hospital.

The corridors are mostly empty as he wheels through them, the sheet of exercises crumpled between one leg and the chair, and his eyes are burning with unshed tears. He finds his brother in one of the lobbies gesturing wildly at a nurse, his voice rising higher and higher.

"Connor." His brother stops immediately the minute he hears Murphy's voice, and he drops to his knees with what looks like relief.

"_Murph_. I didn't know where ye were." There's a few beats of silence where Connor is looking at the tears in his eyes, and the absence of his cast, and taking stock of everything. Murphy doesn't move as Connor quickly stands and twists the wheelchair around with a quick flick of his hand. He speaks to the shell-shocked nurse then, already moving away, "Ye can jus' ring our Ma with anythin' else tha' ye need. Ta."

His brother doesn't stop pushing him until they get outside of the hospital walls, but Murphy is too tired to even protest.

"An bhfuil tu ceart go leor?" _Are you okay?_

He nods slowly, and hands Connor the crumpled list of exercises as some sort of explanation. His brother reads them quickly, following Murphy when he starts to make his way back to the car, "I'm fine, Connor… Jus' tired, that's all."

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Connor grinning down at him, "Let's get home then."

.

_I hope this chapter was okay! I wrote this kind of from personal experience, when Murphy is freaking out about getting his brace and cast off, and I tried to make it as realistic as I could. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. All the reviews are absolutely amazing, and really appreciated!_

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading,_

_ArmedWithMyComputer cc_


	18. Chapter 18

Connor waits with Ma at the kitchen table for his brother, explaining what had happened in hushed tones.

Murphy had pushed them back away once they'd returned home, and retreated to their 'bedroom' and had pulled back the curtain that separated the space from the kitchen. It was dark by the time they returned from the hospital, and Murphy hadn't spoken a word to either of them since.

"Ye comin' out fer dinner, luv?" Ma calls out, and Connor keeps his gaze glued to the table as she looks expectantly at the sheet blocking off half the room.

He doesn't answer for a few minutes, but when he does, Murphy's voice is hoarse with what Connor knows have been tears, "I'll be out in a minute…" Then he clears his throat quietly, and adds, "Don't let Connor eat my dinner."

When his brother finally does wheel himself out, Connor just pushes a plate full of food towards him, and stares intently at the newspaper lying on the table in front of him. Murphy keeps his head down, eyes rimmed with red, and Ma busies herself with the washing up.

It takes her over two hours to realise that he got his cast off. "Connor! Ye got yer cast off today, oh sorry, luv, it completely slipped my mind!" His mother beams at him, and he sheepishly holds up his skinny wrist, while she bombards him with questions. It's enough to drag out a smile from Murphy though, and he realises that he doesn't even mind if it'll take some attention off his brother.

Murphy only talks so him properly that night, when the lights are turned out and Connor is pretending to be asleep. Murphy knows that he's awake though, so most of the time he doesn't know why he bothers.

"Today was shite," Connor hears his brother sigh heavily, and keeps himself curled into a ball, not looking over, "When they took m' cast off—I dunno, it jus'—I didn't know how ta deal. An' I didn't mean ta shut ye out, I didn't, Connor, but I didn't know how ta deal with it…. Please don't be mad."

At this, he pushes himself into a sitting position, and wraps the blanket around his shoulders to keep the night chill away, "I'm not mad, Murph. I jus' want ye ta be okay."

"Aye, I want tha' too. An' I want ye ta be okay too."

"We'll be okay together, yeah? An' I'll come with ye next time we got back ta tha' doctor, promise. It'll work out in th' end, Murph. I promise."

That night, they end up pushing their beds together, though Connor does all the work while Murphy just watches with dark eyes. When they'd been kids, they had used to sleep in the same bed, before Ma had insisted that they at least try to sleep in different ones.

It felt comforting in a sense that couldn't be described, the way Murphy turns his head slightly, and the weight of Connor's arm as he drapes it across his brother's chest. And they just sleep, without dreams or nightmares, just feeling the other _there_.

.

Days passed quickly then, and Murphy can feel himself starting to smile more.

He works at his exercises with a determination that sometimes scares his brother, but it's worth all the pain and weariness when he finally starts to see some _progress_. His braced leg is starting to bend more and more, now that the bones have mostly healed, and the stiffness that had terrified him the first day is slowly reducing. His other leg, is the one that he has strengthening exercises for, and the day that he managed to lift it on his own was the day that Connor let out a whoop of excitement and ran around the kitchen throwing bits of popcorn in the air.

Connor still nags at him to meet up with some of their friends, or to go out to the village just for an hour, but Murphy just shakes his head and puts a trembling hand on his legs to steady himself.

One day though, when his brother starts up at him to leave the house and go further than the garden, a new response comes out of his mouth. Instead of just _no_, he shakes his head, and says, "Not yet, Connor. I'm not ready yet."

It's better than an outright refusal, and it stills something in Connor, making his brother bite his lip carefully, and then just nod.

Murphy turns away again, and continues to work on his exercises again for the third time that day. His muscles are screaming at him in exhaustion, but he can see the fields outside if he glances out the window, and he _needs_ to be able to run through them, rolling around in the grass, laughing. His fist clenches, and Connor frowns, but neither says anything as Murphy begins the exercise regime.

.

After a week of being at home, his brother reaches his limit.

Connor cries out as he sees Murphy topple to the ground when he tries to do a transfer, and curses himself for not seeing his brother's weakness earlier. "I'm fine, I jus—" Murphy attempts to argue, already pushing himself up on shaking elbows, but he just shakes his head.

Murphy is skinnier than he's ever been when Connor lifts him up gently, and he lets out a whine of pain. Connor's only response is to make a beeline for the bed, and start lowering him onto it, despite the protests, "Stop bein' a pain, an' jus' rest fer a bit, Murph. Yer exhausted."

"I need to do the exercises though—I jus' need ta do them real quick, an' then—"

Connor throws his hands up in the air, "_No_! You've already done them four times today, Murphy, I've counted, and you have no energy left! For God's sake, you'll end up back in the hospital again— ye think I can't see the black circles under yer eyes, or the way ye only pick at yer dinner! All ye do anymore is those _fuckin'_ exercises, an' it's wearin' ye down ta nothing— have some sense—"

"Shut yer mouth, Connor! Ye don't know what it's like ta be stuck in this fuckin' house!"

"I do though—who the fuck do ye think has been here with ye every day!" Connor screams back at his brother, feeling the rush of energy that always flooded through him when they were arguing begin to flare up. He makes a wild gesture with his injured hand, and whacks it off the table by mistake, a howl of pain escaping his lips.

Murphy flinches at this, tries to reach for the wheelchair, but Connor kicks it out of his brother's arm span. "Connor—"

"No, fuck ye! Stop pushing yerself too hard or we'll both end up back in that fucking hospital! We're both gonna end up back there, an' I can't take tha'—I can't cause I watched ye almost die in there, right! I was there fer days when ye could barely speak an' when ye were in th' ambulance, an' when everythin' was fallin' apart on that road! I was there, Murph!"

There's only shocked silence in the room, and the sound their ragged breathing makes. Murphy chews on his bottom lip until it bleeds.

He grabs his coat, wrenching open the door with a gasp, "Don't fuckin' do those exercises while I'm gone or—or—jus' don't."

Connor's stormed out of the house before he really knows what has happened, and the cold air hits him hard. The road leading towards the village is full of bumps and small pebbles, nothing that Murphy would have been able to handle, and he runs down it as fast as he can, something that Murphy wouldn't be able to do for months.

The blackberries are gone from the bushes, when he reaches the spot where the accident took place, and he stands in the middle of the road with his arms shaking by his sides. Connor closes his eyes for a split second, and he can see his reflection in the shining car, can hear Murphy screaming his name, can feel the stones digging into the small of his back.

He lets out a yell of anger, and lashes out at the bushes lining the country road, feeling twigs tear into his skin.

There's no one around, and Connor is grateful for this fact, screaming like a crazed man while punching the bushes. He howls for the injustice of the accident, at the driver who'd just _left_ them, at the wheelchair that confines his brother to their small cottage.

Connor cries for the tension that's sent him running out here, cries for the brother that's keeping them both cooped up in the home, and cries because Murphy is just so _broken_.

When he's done, there's blood streaming down from tiny cuts on his fingers, his chest is heaving, and all his screams have attracted the attention of several cows who've wandered over to the edge of their field. He glares at them through the tears in his eyes, and scrubs the moisture away with the back of his bloody hand.

"When are we ever going to be better?"

.

His brother is still lying quietly on the bed when he gets back.

Connor grunts at him, wiping the blood off in smears on his jeans, not raising his eyes to meet Murphy's gaze. He knows that neither of them are going to apologise this time, because this was just a blip in a whole series of disasters, and they both know what the other is feeling.

"So—I was thinkin' maybe we could meet up with some of th' lads soon? Ye know, from school? If ye want ta." Murphy pushes himself up into a sitting position carefully, tracing out a pattern on his leg, and trying to pretend that it isn't a huge deal.

"Ye want ta?"

Murphy shrugs, and nods after a moment, "Yeah, I do. It's about time I stopped hidin' us both in this house… I see ye went at it with the bush out there, now did ye?"

"Shut it. So ye really want th' lads over here? Ma's been sayin' tha' they're desperate ta see ye—us. Ach… an bhfuil tú cinnte?" _But… are you sure?_

"Sea. Ba mhaith liom é seo. _Yes. I want this_. I was thinking tha'…. Maybe we could meet 'em in th' village."

He can't help his lack of response at that, his mouth physically dropping open with the bombshell of it all. Connor snapped his head up to stare at Murphy, who licks his cracked lips, and smirks. The move is so undeniably _Murph_ that for a second, Connor can't breathe.

"I'll give them a call."

.

The next day, Murphy finds himself wheeling out the front door, Connor practically bouncing out in front of him.

He grips the wheels tightly, staring at the long stretch of rocky road ahead, already feeling his heart starting to sink. But Connor is grinning and his eyes are bright in the sun that's shining despite the cold wind. "What're ye waiting fer, let's get a move on."

It takes five minutes before he gives up on trying to get himself up the hill, and lets Connor take over. His brother grabs the wheelchair handles carefully, and they both start moving at a much more acceptable pace. He groans and tells Connor to _put yer back inta it_, and _jesus when did ye become so weak,_ and he thinks that maybe his twin might be buying it.

But it doesn't even matter because they're getting closer to the village nearest to their house, and Murphy has to lick his lips in order to try and prepare himself.

Connor lets go then, so Murphy can take over properly, and moves to walk beside him, fingers brushing his shoulder gently. His brother clears his throat with a cough, and says, "Th' lads said they'll meet up in th' café. Get some lunch or somethin'."

He nods, and focuses on navigating down the cobbled street, "Right."

The closer that they get to the café, the faster his heart starts beating, and Murphy just hopes that he can keep it together long enough for Connor to catch up with their friends properly. He stares down at the ground, at his legs that are sitting nicely on both the footrests, bent at the knees and looking not so broken. He'd worn his jeans for the first time in months, with the brace strapped on over them and unlocked as much as he could manage.

He looks… almost like himself.

They're just at the meeting place, when Connor lets out a bark of laughter, making Murphy glance up in surprise to see all their friends at the window of the café, faces pressed up against the window, and looking like they were about to burst with anticipation.

It only makes him feel sick to his stomach, but his brother is waving back enthusiastically, so he reluctantly raises a hand in greeting.

When they make it to the door, Connor opens it wide, with the intention of letting Murphy go in before him, but he shakes his head quickly, letting Connor enter first, hating the way his brother has to linger to keep the door open enough for him.

It looks like the whole place is filled to the brim with school friends and GAA mates of theirs, and they pull Connor into the crowd with yells of affection, mingled with friendly insults. Murphy's hands tighten on the wheels, and he tries to brace himself.

But the rest of the lads are surprisingly careful, and they shake his hands with such excitement that he almost remembers that maybe he had missed his friends. Then he's wheeling himself up to the table, and they clearly ordered before he and Connor had got there because there's dozens of plates, and a waitress that he recognises is handing him a drink with a huge smile on her face.

Grinning seems to be infectious, because everyone just looks so elated and relieved. Murphy is overwhelmed, but he's pretty sure that it's a good thing seeing as it means that he doesn't have time to analyse everything, and figure out what's happening.

Instead, all he knows is that there's laughter and people keep fighting for his attention.

Connor is on the other side of the room, but he keeps meeting Murphy's eyes, in the middle of all the chaos. He smirks back at him, not even feeling the ache in his legs, and listens as one of his friends relays the second half of the GAA season for him, as they'd missed all the matches.

He lets out a laugh at something a few minutes later, throwing his head back so that he can gasp for air and feel the tightness of his ribs.

It feels right.

.

He snaps his head up when he hears the laugh split through the door, louder than anyone else's in the room.

Connor knows that laugh, and he's missed it for weeks. His brother is shaking his head in amusement, while someone claps him on the shoulder and more people crowd around him. Murphy looks happy and comfortable, as opposed to the stiff, nervous Murphy he'd been on the way here.

A voice distracts him then, and he turns to look at one of the lads, Mick, who was sitting next to him, "It really hasn't been the same without ye, Connor. 's great ta have ye both back. Murphy looks… good."

"He does yeah, Mick. Ye wouldn't believe how much of a fuckin' improvement it is. Ye'd have ta have seen it."

"That so?"

He gulps down some coke, and lets out a hoarse laugh, "Trust me, Murph's flyin' at th' moment."

"We heard it was pretty bad, yeah." Mick shrugs, bumping his shoulder against Connor's, "But sure you're both back now, an' I'm hogging ye at the moment. I'll head over an' talk to Murphy fer a bit. Take care." His friend slips out of the corner, and makes his way over to Murphy, reaching down to shake his hand enthusiastically when he gets there.

Connor grins, and gets put into a playful headlock by another guy.

They scrimmage around for a few minutes; most of the other lads joining in, but when he glances up, Connor can still see his brother surrounded by people, taking bets on the mock fight. He's grinning and drumming his fingers on the table in a fast, upbeat rhythm, and it feels like normal.

When they all sit around the tables that have been pushed together, Connor snags a chair beside his brother, and steals his drink just to watch Murphy's face screw up in complaint.

It feels familiar, being sprawled around the table with their friends, and it's more than Connor had let himself hope for. His twin's spark is back, sharp wit rolling out of him like he hadn't missed a beat in seconds, let alone months.

Murphy doesn't look broken anymore. And neither does Connor, when he looks at his reflection.

.

_So... Huge wait, I know guys. All I can say is that I've been really stretched thin these days, but I'm almost back to normal :) Also, a few people messaged me and asked me not to abandon this story – I haven't! I will never abandon this, so don't worry because it may have taken me awhile, but I'm back on track now. _

_Thanks so much for the feedback and reviews from the last chapter – I hope you guys enjoyed this one as well._

_Review…?_

_Thanks for reading, _

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


	19. Chapter 19

That night, they sit outside, wrapped in ratty blankets, and stare up at the stars.

Connor sips at the lukewarm club orange that he'd bought on the way home from the village, and watches as his brother makes his legs twitch slightly, stretched out on the picnic rug that was spread across their front garden. "Today was good, did ye think?"

"It was, yeah." Murphy licks his lips carefully, and lies flat on his back, "We should go ta one of their matches soon. I miss it."

He tries to hide the huge smile that's pasted on his face, but luckily Murphy's not looking at him, "Yeah, sure. I can sort something out soon. Th' lads'll be chuffed."

They spend the next few minutes in silence then, as Murphy stretches out on the ground, wheelchair pushed back out of sight. Connor leans against the cool brick of their house, and nudges his brother with his foot, neither of them needing to say anything.

A car flashes past them, headlights soon disappeared into the distance, and Murphy flinches slightly at the sound. He pushes himself up into a sitting position, and turns to cock his head slightly at Connor, "Are ye okay, Connor? Like, actually are ye okay?"

"What? I'm fine, Murph, what are ye on?"

Murphy shrugs at his confusion, and concentrates on lifting one of his legs off the blanket slowly, "I know tha' all of this must have messed you up. I mean, I got hurt—an' ye did too. I—I jus' wanted ye ta know that I know tha'. We both were in tha' accident."

"Murph—what, of course—"

"Listen. People act like it was jus' me sometimes, an' it wasn't. It _wasn't_, okay? I jus' wanted ta say tha'."

His brother settles back in his original lying position, and closes his eyes, effectively ending the conversation. Connor can feel his mouth quirking up to form a smile, and he rolls his eyes once, before curling up on the lumpy ground beside Murphy.

"I'm fine now. Promise."

The words slip out, in between their heavy breathing, so close to sleep. The words make Murphy throw one of his arms across to hit him half-heartedly on his stomach, before they both go still again. The words are true, and the words soothe them both into sleep.

.

Murphy is woken up the next morning by his brother shaking him awake, and the sound of other people in his room.

But then he opens his eyes properly, an ache settling in between his shoulder blades, and is reminded that they slept outside, on the rough ground. Murphy moans, and blinks up slowly at the two policemen standing in their front garden.

Connor is already on his feet, having positioned the wheelchair close enough for him, and talking to the two coppers. He's frowning a bit, and one of his fists is clenched, making an uneasy feeling appear in Murphy's stomach, despite the fact that he doesn't know what they're talking about.

When he's finally heaved himself into the chair, gotten his feet positioned on the footrests properly, and ran a hand through his scruffy hair, he begins to listen.

Nothing makes sense for a few moments though, it's all just disjointed words that are far too confusing to comprehend at this hour in the morning. He sees one of the Gardaí looking at him with what appears to a small smile, mixed with a bit of pity.

It's probably rare that they call to a house to find its occupants asleep in the garden. Murphy doesn't care though. He pushes himself into the house behind his brother, and spins around to face everyone, scowling in confusion, and feeling the smallest stab of guilt when Connor has to stop in the middle of the conversation, and bend down to explain it to him.

"Murph. Murph, they caught the guy who hit us. The hit-and-run man, they found him. _Murph_."

He pulls himself out of his daze, and looks up to see Connor staring at him with an intense expression. "They—the guy that—what?" It still takes him a minute to wrap his mind around the idea, and halfway though he realises that his hands are rubbing at his thighs protectively.

His brother pulls up a chair, sitting down beside Murphy, and gestures for the Gardaí to do the same.

Murphy realises that, without appearing too obvious to anyone, Connor's just brought everyone down to the same level as him, and it's a relief not to have to crane his head up at the tall Gardaí . He clasps his hands together in his lap, digging his fingernails into his skin to try and stay calm.

"What now?"

They explain that the man is being detained in the Guarda station, and that they probably wouldn't have to give evidence at the trial—seeing as how the man had already confessed to being guilty. Connor frowns lessens at that, but Murphy can't even look at his brother.

"How long? How long will he get in prison?"

One of the men considers the question, and says, "It's hard to tell. He's either looking at up to a year jail time, possibly a suspended sentence. He'll probably lose his licence as well... The man—once he'd confessed, asked how the two of you were. He wanted to, uh, know if you were still alive."

"Fuck him!" Connor leaps out of his chair, sending it clattering to the ground, "Fuck the man, and fuck his concern! We don't need it! You think that we got this far on him _worrying_! Fuck! He doesn't get to _care_—he doesn't get to talk about _us_! He nearly killed us!" He storms upstairs, sending a picture that was hanging on the wall crashing down to the ground as well.

No one moved for a few minutes, listening to Connor slam the door to their bedroom upstairs.

"I think that ye should probably go. Thanks—fer lettin' us know. Let us know what it plays out, will ye?" Murphy wheels towards the door, and tries his best to look grateful. "Cheers fer everythin'."

The two Gardaí give their sincere apologies, and promise to get in touch soon, but Murphy doesn't even care that much anymore. He's more concerned with his brother, and the unexpected outburst that had just occurred.

"Connor! Connor MacManus get down here right now, fer fuck's sake! C'mon, stop yer cryin' an' lets sort this out!"

.

He could hear Murphy yelling for him, and for a second, Connor just pressed his face harder into the wall that he was leaning into.

But then he reluctantly pushed himself into a proper standing position, and stumbled down the stairs, seeing his twin sitting at the bottom of steps silently. Murphy didn't say anything, just rubbed at his eyes with weariness.

"Sorry."

"Ye don't have ta apologise, ye know tha'."

His hands clench into fists, and its physically hard to make his way down the last three steps. "I jus'—the guy has the nerve ta ask about _us_. After—after everything—an' he jus'—what, he jus' admits what he did, an' _wonders if we're alive_? It's not right! Fer all he knew we were dead—you could've _died_!"

Murphy drops his head to stare down at the wheelchair for a moment, and then he's back to looking straight at Connor, "I know. It's not right at all, but there's nothing we can do. People are just… bad."

"They're fuckin' stupid, that's what they are."

"I know."

"We don't even know his name."

Connor watches as his brother reacts to the sentence, watches as he grips one of the wheels tighter, "It wouldn't make a difference really, would it? We—we can't change anythin', not now. I'm—we're good now, we're getting better."

"Doesn't mean it's right."

Murphy laughs, and goes up on the back wheels of the chair, in a well-practised wheelie, "Aye, but sure we can handle it."

.

A few days pass, and Connor's pure anger at the man who left them bleeding in the middle of the road hasn't dissipated, but it upsets Murphy, so he at least learns how to hide it better from his brother. Murphy is on the home stretch, or so he said once, and Connor can sense that his brother doesn't have the energy to obsess over the nameless man.

They have another hospital appointment coming up, and all Murphy can do is smirk when Connor mentions it. The muscle is starting to build back up in his legs, but slowly, so slowly.

Still, it makes Murphy smile whenever he reaches another tiny milestone, so Connor is grateful for that.

They scab a lift off another relative when the appointment comes, and again, they ask their 'driver' to wait in the car.

Connor doesn't quite think that he'll ever get over the feeling of _fear_ that floods through him when he enters the hospital. He forces himself to clamp a hand down on his brother's shoulder, so he can be sure that Murphy is _right there_, and _not dying_, and _he's going to be fine_. Murphy just bites his lip, and continues into the elevators.

This time, Connor refuses to be separated from his brother, and ends up following them down to x-ray when Murphy has to have all his scans done again. He crouches down on the ground outside the x-ray department, head leaned back against the wall, and tries not to think about his hatred for the guy who knocked them both down.

An hour or so later, when all the tests are done, Murphy is up on an exam table, while Connor slumps in a chair beside him.

When all the doctors and interns come flooding in, he jumps to his feet, and manages to wedge himself between the wall and the back of the exam table. This way, Connor can't be accused of getting in the way, and Murphy won't be alone.

They twist and manipulate his legs one way and another, Murphy occasionally letting out a grunt or a whine of pain, but other than that, his twin remains silent. The doctors pour over the x-rays, mutter about range of motion, and inspect the muscle tone carefully.

One leaves the room for a few minutes, and comes back in with a pair of crutches, and Murphy's face just _lights up_.

He's told that he can't use them all the time, and a load of rules that Connor commits to memory, but they let Murphy off the bed, and he takes his first, carefully coached through, steps in months. His legs are spindly and skinny like a colt's, and he sways a bit, his progress slow and tiring, but he's _walking_.

A tear slips down Murphy's face, as he turns around to face his twin, and Connor reaches out to wipe it away.

If he's being honest, tears are welling up in his own eyes, but he just beams at his brother. Murphy keeps going, taking painstakingly focused steps, until he reaches the door, and he leans against the support for a moment. Then he straightens again, and makes his way back to the chair, reluctantly letting himself be lowered back into it.

Connor reaches down to embrace his brother, and he can feel the silent sobs that are making Murphy shake ever so slightly.

"I did it," Murphy whispers into his shoulder, one hand fisting in Connor's hair, "I fuckin' _walked_."

.

They celebrate that night, at home with Ma.

She gets takeaway food, from the local chipper, and Murphy walks around the kitchen table twice before he has to sit down. Connor can't stop smiling.

When they finally collapse into bed, Connor hears the quiet clatter of crutches onto the ground, and he opens his eyes to see Murphy reaching down a hand to touch them gently. Then he looks over to see Connor grinning at him, and sticks out his tongue.

"Oh, fuck you. Got ta sleep."

"I was doin' nothin' but smiling at my little brother!"

"We both know _I'm_ the oldest, here now, so ye can stop with tha' right now."

"Night, Murph."

"Night."

.

_(I actually have more for this—but I just really liked that ending!)_

_Hope that was okay for you guys, would love to hear any comments that you have :) I'll have the next chapter up soon… perks of finally being on summer holidays!_

_Thanks for reading, _

_ArmedWithMyComputer xx_


End file.
